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 One of the " Forty" * * * 
 
 ^ * ^ * By Alphonse Daudet 
 
 Translated from the French by *g -£ & 
 A. W.Verrall and Margaret de G. Verrall 
 
 Chicago and New York * * * 
 Rand, McNally & Company 
 ***************
 
 ONE OF THE "FORTY." 
 
 (l'immortel) 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 In the 18S0 edition of Men of the Day, under the 
 
 heading Astier-Rehu, may be read the following 
 
 notice : — 
 
 Astier, commonly called Astier-Rehu {Pierre Alexandre 
 Leonard), Member of the Academie Franfaise, was born in 
 1816 at Sauvagnat (Puy-de-Dome). His parents belonged to 
 the class of small farmers. He displayed from his earliest 
 years a remarkable aptitude for the study of history. His 
 education, begun at Riom and continued at Louis-le- Grand, 
 where he was afterwards to re-appear as professor, was more 
 sound than is now fashionable, a?id secured his admission to 
 the Ecole Normale Superieure, from which he went to the 
 Chair of History at the Lycee of Mende. It was here that 
 he wrote the Essay on Marcus Aurelius, crotvned by the 
 Academie Frangaise. Called to Paris the following year by 
 M. de Salvatidy, the young and brilliant professor showed his 
 sense of the discerning favour extended to him by publishing, 
 in rapid succession, The Great Ministers of Louis XIV. 
 (crotvned by the Academie Francaise), Bonaparte and the 
 
 B
 
 2 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 
 
 Concordat (crowned by the Academie Fraufaise), and the 
 admirable Introduction to the History of the House 
 of Orleans, a magnificent prologue to the work which 
 was to occupy twenty years of his life. This time the 
 Academie, having no more crcnuns to offer him, gave him 
 a seat among its members. He could scarcely be called a 
 stranger there, having married Mile. Rehu, daughter of the 
 lamented Pauli7i Rehu, the celebrated architect, member of the 
 Academie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, and grand- 
 daughter of the highly respected Jean Rehu, the father of the 
 Academie Franfaise, the elegant translator of Ovid and 
 author of the Letters to Urania, whose hale old age is 
 the miracle of the Institute. By his friend and colleague 
 M. Thiers Ieo?iard Astier-Rehu 7vas called to the post of 
 Keeper of the Archives of Foreign Affairs. It is well known 
 that, with a noble disregard of his interests, he resigned, some 
 years later (1878), rather than that the impartial pen of 
 history should stoop to the demands of our present rulers. 
 Rut deprived of his beloved archives, the author has turned 
 his leisure to good account. In two years he has given us the 
 last three volumes of his history, and announces shortly New 
 Lights on Galileo, based upon documents extremely 
 curious and absolutely unpublished. All the works of Astier- 
 Rehu may be had of Petit- Sequard, Bookseller to the Acade- 
 mie. 
 
 As the publisher of this book of reference entrusts 
 to each person concerned the task of telling his own 
 story, no doubt can possibly be thrown upon the 
 authenticity of these biographical notes. But why 
 must it be asserted that Leonard Astier-Rehu re- 
 signed his post as Keeper of the Archives ? Every 
 one knows that he was dismissed, sent away with no
 
 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 3 
 
 more ceremony than a hackney-cabman, because of 
 an imprudent phrase let slip by the historian of the 
 House of Orleans, vol. v. p. 327 : ' Then, as to-day, 
 France, overwhelmed by the flood of demagogy, etc' 
 Who can see the end of a metaphor ? His salary of 
 five hundred pounds a year, his rooms in the Quai 
 d'Orsay (with coals and gas) and, besides, that won- 
 derful treasure of historic documents, which had sup- 
 plied the sap of his books, all this had been carried 
 away from him by this unlucky 'flood,' all by his 
 own flood ! The poor man could not get over it. 
 Even after the lapse of two years, regret for the ease 
 and the honours of his office gnawed at his heart, 
 and gnawed with a sharper tooth on certain dates, 
 certain days of the month or the week, and above all 
 on 'Teyssedre's Wednesdays.' Teyssedre was the 
 man who polished the floors. He came to the Astiers' 
 regularly every Wednesday. On the afternoon of 
 that day Madame Astier was at home to her friends 
 in her husband's study, this being the only presentable 
 apartment of their third floor in the Rue de Beaune, 
 the remains of a grand house, terribly inconvenient 
 in spite of its magnificent ceiling. The disturbance 
 caused to the illustrious historian by this ' Wednes- 
 day,' recurring every week and interrupting his indus- 
 trious and methodical labours, may easily be con- 
 ceived. He had come to hate the rubber of floors, a 
 
 B 2
 
 4 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 man from his own country, with a face as yellow, 
 close, and hard as his own cake of beeswax. He 
 hated Teyssedre, who, proud of coming from Riom, 
 while ' Meuchieu Achtier came only from Chauvagnat' 
 had no scruple in pushing about the heavy table 
 covered with pamphlets, notes, and reports, and 
 hunted the illustrious victim from room to room till 
 he was driven to seek refuge in a kind of pigeon-hole 
 over the study, where, though not a big man, he 
 must sit for want of room to get up. This lumber- 
 closet, which was furnished with an old damask chair, 
 an aged card-table and a stand of drawers, looked 
 out on the courtyard through the upper circle of the 
 great window belonging to the room below. Through 
 this opening, much resembling the low glass door of 
 an orangery, the travailing historian might be seen 
 from head to foot, miserably doubled up like Cardinal 
 La Balue in his cage. It was here that he was sitting 
 one morning with his eyes upon an ancient scrawl, 
 having been already expelled from the lower room by 
 the bang-bang-bang of Teyssedre, when he heard the 
 sound of the front door bell. 
 
 ' Is that you, Fage ? ' asked the Academician in 
 his deep and resonant bass. 
 
 1 No, Meuchieu Achtier. It is the young gentle- 
 man.' 
 
 On Wednesday mornings the polisher opened
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 5 
 
 the door, because Corentine was dressing her 
 mistress. 
 
 ' How's The Masterl ' cried Paul Astier, hurrying 
 by to his mother's room. The Academician did not 
 answer. His son's habit of using ironically a title 
 generally bestowed upon him as a compliment was 
 always offensive to him. 
 
 ' M. Fage is to be shown up as soon as he comes,' 
 he said, not addressing himself directly to the 
 polisher. 
 
 'Yes, Menchicu Achtier* And the bang-bang- 
 bang began again. 
 
 ' Good morning, mamma.' 
 
 ' Why, it's Paul ! Come in. Mind the folds, Co- 
 rentine.' 
 
 Madame Astier was putting on a skirt before the 
 looking-glass. She was tall, slender, and still good- 
 looking in spite of her worn features and her too 
 delicate skin. She did not move, but held out to 
 him a cheek with a velvet surface of powder. He 
 touched it with his fair pointed beard. The son was 
 as little demonstrative as the mother. 
 
 1 Will M. Paul stay to breakfast ? ' asked Coren- 
 tine. She was a stout countrywoman of an oily com- 
 plexion, pitted with smallpox. She was sitting on 
 the carpet like a shepherdess in the fields, and was 
 about to repair, at the hem of the skirt, her mistress's
 
 6 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 old black dress. Her tone and her attitude showed 
 the objectionable familiarity of the under-paid maid- 
 of-all-work. 
 
 No, Paul would not stay to breakfast He was 
 expected elsewhere. He had his buggy below ; he 
 had only come to say a word to his mother. 
 
 1 Your new English cart ? Let me look,' said 
 Madame Astier. She went to the open window, and 
 parted the Venetian blinds, on which the bright May 
 sunlight lay in stripes, just far enough to see the neat 
 little vehicle, shining with new leather and polished 
 pinewood, and the servant in spotless livery standing 
 at the horse's head. 
 
 * Oh, ma'am, how beautiful ! ' murmured Coren- 
 tine, who was also at the window. ' How nice M. 
 Paul must look in it ! ' 
 
 The mother's face shone. But windows were 
 opening opposite, and people were stopping before 
 the equipage, which was creating quite a sensation at 
 this end of the Rue de Beaune. Madame Astier 
 sent away the servant, seated herself on the edge of 
 a folding-chair, and finished mending her skirt for 
 herself, while she waited for what her son had to say 
 to her, not without a suspicion what it would be, 
 though her attention seemed to be absorbed in her 
 sewing. Paul Astier was equally silent. He leaned 
 back in an arm-chair and played with an ivory fan,
 
 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 7 
 
 an old thing which he had known for his mother's 
 ever since he was born. Seen thus, the likeness 
 between them was striking ; the same Creole skin, 
 pink over a delicate duskiness, the same supple figure, 
 the same impenetrable grey eye, and in both faces a 
 slight defect hardly to be noticed ; the finely-cut nose 
 was a little out of line, giving an expression of sly- 
 ness, of something not to be trusted. While each 
 watched and waited for the other, the pause was 
 filled by the distant brushing of Teyssedre. 
 
 ' Rather good, that,' said Paul. 
 
 His mother looked up. ' What is rather good ?' 
 
 He raised the fan and pointed, like an artist, at 
 the bare arms and the line of the falling shoulders 
 under the fine cambric bodice. She began to laugh. 
 
 ' Yes, but look here.' She pointed to her long 
 neck, where the fine wrinkles marked her age. 'But 
 after all,' . . . you have the good looks, so what does 
 it matter ? Such was her thought, but she did not 
 express it. A brilliant talker, perfectly trained in 
 the fibs and commonplaces of society, a perfect adept 
 in expression and suggestion, she was left without 
 words for the only real feeling which she had ever 
 experienced. And indeed she really was not one of 
 those women who cannot make up their minds to 
 grow old. Long before the hour of curfew — though 
 indeed there had perhaps never been much fire in her
 
 8 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 
 
 to put out — all her coquetry, all her feminine eager- 
 ness to captivate and charm, all her aspirations 
 towards fame or fashion or social success had been 
 transferred to the account of her son, this tall, good- 
 looking young fellow in the correct attire of the 
 modern artist, with his slight beard and close-cut 
 hair, who showed in mien and bearing that soldierly 
 grace which our young men of the day get from their 
 service as volunteers. 
 
 1 Is your first floor let ? ' asked the mother at last. 
 
 1 Let ! let ! Not a sign of it ! All the bills and 
 advertisements no go ! "I don't know what is the 
 matter with them ; but they don't come," as Vedrine 
 said at his private exhibition.' 
 
 He laughed quietly, at an inward vision of Ve- 
 drine among his enamels and his sculptures, calm, 
 proud, and self-assured, wondering without anger at 
 the non-appearance of the public. But Madame 
 Astier did not laugh. That splendid first floor empty 
 for the last two years ! In the Rue Fortuny ! A 
 magnificent situation — a house in the style of Louis 
 XII. — a house built by her son ! Why, what did 
 people want ? The same people, doubtless, who did 
 not go to Vedrine. Biting off the thread with which 
 she had been sewing, she said : 
 
 ' And it is worth taking, too ! ' 
 
 ' Quite ; but it would want money to keep it up.'
 
 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 9 
 
 The people at the Credit Foncier would not be satis- 
 fied. And the contractors were upon him — four 
 hundred pounds for carpenter's work due at the end 
 of the month, and he hadn't a penny of it. 
 
 The mother, who was putting on the bodice of 
 her dress before the looking-glass, grew pale and saw 
 that she did so. It was the shiver that you feel in a 
 duel, when your adversary raises his pistol to take 
 aim. 
 
 ' You have had the money for the restorations at 
 Mousseaux ? ' 
 
 ' Mousseaux ! Long ago.' 
 
 ' And the Rosen tomb ? ' 
 
 • Can't get on. Vedrine still at his statue.' 
 
 'Yes, and why must you have Vedrine? Your 
 father warned you against him.' 
 
 ' Oh, I know. They can't bear him at the Insti- 
 tute.' 
 
 He rose and walked about the room. 
 
 ' You know me, come. I am a practical man. If 
 I took him and not some one else to do my statue, 
 you may suppose that I had a reason.' Then sud- 
 denly, turning to his mother : 
 
 1 You could not let me have four hundred pounds, 
 I suppose ? ' She had been waiting for this ever 
 since he came in ; he never came to see her for 
 anything else.
 
 IO ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 ' Four hundred pounds ? How can you think 
 
 She said no more ; but the pained expression of 
 her mouth and eyes said clearly enough : 
 
 ' You know that I have given you everything — 
 that I am dressed in clothes fit for the rag-bag -that 
 I have not bought a bonnet for three years — that 
 Corentine washes my linen in the kitchen because I 
 should blush to give such rubbish to the laundress ; 
 and you know also that my worst misery is to refuse 
 what you ask. Then why do you ask ? ' And this 
 mute address of his mother's was so eloquent that 
 Paul Astier answered it aloud : 
 
 ' Of course I was not thinking of your having it 
 yourself. By Jove, if you had, it would be the better 
 for me. But/ he continued, in his cool, off-hand way, 
 ' there is The Master up there. Could you get it 
 from him ? You might. You know how to get hold 
 of him.' 
 
 1 That is over. There is an end of that' 
 
 ' Well, but, you know, he works ; his books sell ; 
 you spend nothing.' 
 
 He looked round in the subdued light at the re- 
 duced state of the old furniture, the worn curtains, 
 the threadbare carpet, nothing of later date than their 
 marriage thirty years ago. Where was it then that 
 all the money went ?
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' II 
 
 1 1 say/ he began again, ' I wonder whether my 
 venerable sire is in the habit of taking his fling ? ' 
 
 It was an idea so monstrous, so inconceivable, 
 that of Leonard Astier-Rt^hu ' taking his fling,' that 
 his wife could not help smiling in spite of herself. 
 No, on that point she thought there was no need for 
 uneasiness. • Only, you know, he has turned sus- 
 picious and mysterious, and " buries his hoard." We 
 have gone too far with him.' 
 
 They spoke low, like conspirators, with their eyes 
 upon the carpet. 
 
 ' And grandpapa,' said Paul, but not in a tone of 
 confidence, ' could you try him ? ' 
 
 ' Grandpapa ? You must be mad ! ' 
 
 Yet he knew well enough what old R^hu was. 
 A touchy, selfish man all but a hundred years old, 
 who would have seen them all die rather than deprive 
 himself of a pinch of snuff or a single one of the pins 
 that were always stuck on the lapels of his coat. Ah, 
 poor child ! He must be hard up indeed before he 
 could think of his grandfather. 
 
 1 Well, you would not like me to try .' She 
 
 paused. 
 
 1 To try where ? ' 
 
 1 In the Rue de Courcelles. I might get some- 
 thing in advance for the tomb.' 
 
 ' There ? Good Heavens ! You had better not ! '
 
 12 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 
 
 He spoke to her imperiously, with pale lips and a 
 disagreeable expression in his eye ; then recovering 
 his self-contained and fleering tone, he said : 
 
 ' Don't trouble any more about it. It is only a 
 crisis to be got through. I have had plenty before 
 now.' 
 
 She held out to him his hat, which he was looking 
 for. As he could get nothing from her, he would be 
 off. To keep him a few minutes longer, she began 
 talking of an important business which she had in 
 hand — a marriage, which she had been asked to 
 arrange. 
 
 At the word marriage he started and looked at 
 her askance : ' Who was it ? ' She had promised to 
 say nothing at present. But she could not refuse him. 
 It was the Prince d'Athis. 
 
 ' Who is the lady ? ' he asked. 
 
 It was her turn now to show him the side view of 
 her crooked nose. 
 
 ' You do not know the lady. She is a foreigner 
 with a fortune. If I succeed I might help you. I 
 have made my terms in black and white.' 
 
 He smiled, completely reassured. 
 
 1 And how does the Duchess take it ? ' 
 
 ' She knows nothing of it, of course.' 
 
 ' Her Sammy ! Her dear prince ! And after 
 fifteen years ! '
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 1 3 
 
 Madame Astier's gesture expressed the utter care- 
 lessness of one woman for the feelings of another. 
 
 ' What else could she expect at her age ? ' said she. 
 
 ' Why, what is her age ? ' 
 
 ' She was born in 1827. We are in 1880. You 
 can do the sum. Just a year older than myself.' 
 
 ' The Duchess ! ' cried Paul, stupefied. 
 
 His mother laughed as she said, ' Why, yes, you 
 rude boy ! What are you surprised at ? I am sure 
 you thought her twenty years younger. It's a fact, it 
 seems, that the most experienced of you know 
 nothing about women. Well, you see, the poor 
 prince could not have her hanging on to him all his 
 life. Besides, one of these days the old Duke will 
 die, and then where would he be ? Fancy him tied 
 to that old woman ! ' 
 
 ' Well,' said Paul, ' so much for your dear friend ! ' 
 
 She fired at this. Her dear friend ! The 
 Duchess ! A pretty friend ! A woman who, with 
 twenty-five thousand a year — intimate as she was 
 with her, and well aware of their difficulties — had 
 never so much as thought of helping them ! What 
 was the present of an occasional dress ? Or the 
 permission to choose a bonnet at her milliner's? 
 Presents for use ! There was no pleasure in them. 
 
 ' Like grandpapa Rehu's on New Year's day,' put 
 in Paul assenting. ' An atlas, or a globe !
 
 14 ONE OF THE 'FORTY 1 
 
 1 Oh, Antonia is, I really think, more stingy still. 
 When we were at Mousseaux, in the middle of the 
 fruit season, if Sammy was not there, do you re- 
 member the dry plums they gave us for dessert 1 
 There is plenty in the orchard and the kitchen gar- 
 den, but everything is sent to market at Blois or 
 Vend6me. It runs in her blood, you know. Her 
 father, the Marshal, was famous for it at the Court of 
 Louis Philippe ; and it was something to be thought 
 stingy at the Court of Louis Philippe ! These great 
 Corsican families are all alike ; nothing but meanness 
 and pretension ! They will eat chestnuts, such as the 
 pigs would not touch, off plate with their arms on it. 
 And as for the Duchess — why, she makes her steward 
 account to her in person ! They take the meat up 
 to her every morning ; and every evening (this is 
 from a person who knows), when she has gone to her 
 grand bed with the lace, at that tender moment she 
 balances her books ! ' 
 
 Madame Astier was nearly breathless. Her small 
 voice grew sharp and shrill, like the cry of a sea-bird 
 from the masthead. Meanwhile Paul, amused at 
 first, had begun to listen impatiently, with his 
 thoughts elsewhere. ' I am off,' said he abruptly. 
 ' I have a breakfast with some business people — very 
 important.' 
 
 J An order ? '
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 1 5 
 
 ' No, not architect's business this time.' 
 
 She wanted him to satisfy her curiosity, but he 
 went on, ' Not now ; another time ; it's not settled.' 
 An .1 finally, as he gave his mother a little kiss, he 
 whispered in her ear, ' All the same, do not forget 
 my four hundred.' 
 
 But for this grown-up son, who was a secret cause 
 of division, the Astier-Rehus would have had a happy 
 household, as the world, and in particular the Aca- 
 demic world, measures household happiness. After 
 thirty years their mutual sentiments remained the 
 same, kept beneath the snow at the temperature of 
 what gardeners call a ' cold-bed.' When, about -^'50, 
 Professor Astier, after brilliant successes at the In- 
 stitute, sued for the hand of Mademoiselle Adelaide 
 Rehu, who at that time lived with her grandfather at 
 the Palais Mazarin, it was not the delicate and slender 
 beauty of his betrothed, it was not the bloom of her 
 ' Aurora ' face, which were the real attractions for 
 him. Neither was it her fortune. For the parents of 
 Mademoiselle Adelaide, who died suddenly of cholera, 
 had left her but little ; and the grandfather, a Creole 
 from Martinique, an old beau of the time of the Di- 
 rectory, a gambler, a free liver, great in practical jokes 
 and in duels, declared loudly and repeatedly that he 
 should not add a penny to her slender portion. 
 
 No, that which enticed the scion of Sauvagnat.
 
 16 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 who was far more ambitious than greedy, was the 
 Academic The two great courtyards which he had 
 to cross to bring his daily offering of flowers, and the 
 long solemn corridors into which at intervals there 
 descended a dusty staircase, were for him rather the 
 path of glory than of love. The Paulin Rehu of the 
 Inscriptions et Belles- Lettres, the Jean Rehu of the 
 ' Letters to Urania,' the Institute complete with its 
 lions and its cupola — this was the Mecca of his pil- 
 grimage, and all this it was that he took to wife on 
 his wedding day. 
 
 For this not transient beauty he felt a passion 
 proof against the tooth of time, a passion which took 
 such hold of him that his permanent attitude towards 
 his wife was that of those mortal husbands on whom, 
 in the mythological age, the gods occasionally be- 
 stowed their daughters. Nor did he quit this respect 
 when at the fourth ballot he had himself become a 
 deity. As for Madame Astier, who had only accepted 
 marriage as a means of escape from a hard and selfish 
 grandfather in his anecdotage, it had not taken her 
 long to find out how poor was the laborious peasant 
 brain, how narrow the intelligence, concealed by the 
 solemn manners of the Academic laureate and manu- 
 facturer of octavos, and by his voice with its ophi- 
 cleide notes adapted to the sublimities of the lecture 
 room. And yet when, by force of intrigue, bargain-
 
 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 1 7 
 
 ing, and begging, she had seated him at last in the 
 Academie, she felt herself possessed by a certain 
 veneration, forgetting that it was herself who had 
 clothed him in that coat with the green palm leaves, 
 in which his nothingness ceased to be visible. 
 
 In the dull concord of their partnership, where 
 was neither joy, nor intimacy, nor communion of any 
 kind, there was but one single note of natural human 
 feeling, their child ; and this note disturbed the har- 
 mony. In the first place the father was entirely 
 disappointed of all that he wished for his son, that he 
 should be distinguished by the University, entered for 
 the general examinations, and finally pass through 
 the Ecole Normale to a professorship. Alas ! at 
 school Paul took prizes for nothing but gymnastics 
 and fencing, and distinguished himself chiefly by a 
 wilful and obstinate perversity, which covered a prac- 
 tical turn of mind and a precocious understanding of 
 the world. Careful of his dress and his appearance, 
 he never went for a walk without the hope, of which 
 he made no secret to his schoolfellows, of ' picking up 
 a rich wife.' Two or three times the father had been 
 ready to punish this determined idleness after the 
 rough method of Auvergne, but the mother was by 
 to excuse and to protect. In vain Astier-Rehu 
 scolded and snapped his jaw, a prominent feature 
 which, in the days when he was a professor, had 
 
 c
 
 1 8 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 gained him the nickname of Crocodilus. In the last 
 resort, he would threaten to pack his trunk and go 
 back to his vineyard at Sauvagnat. 
 
 ' Ah, Leonard, Leonard ! ' Madame Astier would 
 say with gentle mockery ; and nothing further came 
 of it. Once, however, he really came near to strapping 
 his trunk in good earnest, when, after a three years' 
 course of architecture at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, 
 Paul refused to compete for the Prix de Rome. The 
 father could scarcely speak for indignation. ' Wretched 
 boy ! It is the Prix de Rome ! You cannot know ; you 
 do not understand. The Prix de Rome ! Get that, and 
 it means the Institute ! ' Little the young man cared. 
 What he wanted was wealth, and wealth the Institute 
 does not bestow, as might be seen in his father, his 
 grandfather, and old Rehu, his great-grandfather ! 
 To start in life, to get a business, a large business, an 
 immediate income — this was what he wanted for his 
 part, and not to wear a green coat with palms on it. 
 
 Leonard Astier was speechless. To hear such 
 blasphemies uttered by his son and approved by his 
 wife, a daughter of the house of Rehu ! This time 
 his trunk was really brought down from the box 
 room ; his old trunk, such as professors use in the 
 provinces, with as much ironwork in the way of nails 
 and hinges as might have sufficed for a church door, 
 and high enough and deep enough to have held the
 
 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 19 
 
 enormous manuscript of ' Marcus Aurelius ' together 
 with all the dreams of glory and all the ambitious hopes 
 of an historian on the high road to the Academic. 
 It was in vain for Madame Astier to pinch her lips 
 and say, ' Oh, Leonard, Leonard ! ' Nothing would stop 
 him till his trunk was packed. Two days it stood in 
 the way in the middle of his study. Then it travelled 
 to the ante-room ; and there reposed, turned once and 
 for ever into a wood-box. 
 
 And at first, it must be said, Paul Astier did 
 splendidly. Helped by his mother and her connec- 
 tion in good society, and further assisted by his own 
 cleverness and personal charm, he soon got work 
 which brought him into notice. The Duchess Pa- 
 dovani, wife of a former ambassador and minister, 
 trusted him with the restoration of her much admired 
 country house at Mousseaux-on-the-Loire, an ancient 
 royal residence, long neglected, which he succeeded 
 in restoring with a skill and ingenuity really amazing 
 in an undistinguished scholar of the Beaux-Arts. 
 Mousseaux got him the order for the new mansion 
 of the Ambassador of the Porte ; and finally the 
 Princess of Rosen commissioned him to design the 
 mausoleum of Prince Herbert of Rosen, who had 
 come to a tragic end in the expedition of Christian 
 of Illyria. The young man now thought himself sure 
 of success. Astier the elder was induced by his wife 
 
 C2
 
 20 ONE OF THE ' FORTY * 
 
 to put down three thousand pounds out of his savings 
 for the purchase of a site in the Rue Fortuny. Then 
 Paul built himself a mansion — or rather, a wing to a 
 mansion, which was itself arranged as a block of 
 elegant ' rooms to let.' He was a practical young 
 fellow, and if he wanted a mansion, without which no 
 artist is chic, he meant it to bring him an income. 
 
 Unfortunately houses to let are not always so easy 
 to let, and the young architect's way of life, with two 
 horses in his stable (one for harness, one for the 
 saddle), his club, his visiting, his slow reimbursements, 
 made it impossible for him to wait. Moreover, the 
 elder Astier suddenly declared that he was not going 
 to give any more ; and all that the mother could 
 attempt or say for her darling son failed to shake this 
 irrevocable decision. Her will, which had hitherto 
 swayed the establishment, was now resisted. Thence- 
 forward there was a continual struggle. The mother 
 used her ingenuity to make little dishonest profits on 
 the household expenses, that she might never have to 
 say ' no ' to her son's requests. Leonard suspected 
 her and, to protect himself, checked the accounts. 
 In these humiliating conflicts the wife, who was the 
 better bred, was the first to tire ; and nothing less 
 than the desperate situation of her beloved Paul would 
 have induced her to make a fresh attempt. 
 
 She went slowly into the dining room. It was a
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 21 
 
 long, melancholy room, ill lighted by tall, narrow 
 windows, having in fact been used as a table d'hote for 
 ecclesiastics until the Astiers took it. There she 
 found her husband already at table, looking preoccu- 
 pied and almost grumpy. In the ordinary way ' the 
 Master ' came to his meals with a smiling serenity as 
 regular as his appetite, and with teeth which, sound 
 as a foxhound's, were not to be discouraged by stale 
 bread or leathery meat, or by the miscellaneous dis- 
 agreeables which are the everyday flavouring of life. 
 
 ' Ah, it's Teyssedre's day,' thought Madame Astier, 
 as she took her seat, her best dress rustling as she did 
 so. She was a little surprised at not receiving the 
 compliment with which her husband never failed to 
 welcome her ' Wednesday ' costume, shabby as it was. 
 Reckoning that this bad temper would go off with the 
 first mouthfuls, she waited before beginning her at- 
 tack. But, though the Master went on eating, his ill 
 humour visibly increased. Everything was wrong ; 
 the wine tasted of the cork ; the balls of boiled beef 
 were burnt. 
 
 ' And all because your M. Fage kept you waiting 
 this morning,' cried Corentine angrily from the ad- 
 joining kitchen. She showed her shiny pitted face 
 for a moment at the hatch in the wall through which, 
 in the days of the table d'hote, they used to pass the 
 dishes. She shut it with a bang ; upon which Astier
 
 22 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 muttered, ' Really that girl's impudence ' He 
 
 was in truth much annoyed that the name of Fage 
 had been mentioned before his wife. And sure 
 enough at any other moment Madame Astier would 
 not have failed to say, ' Oh, Fage the bookbinder here 
 again ! ' and there would have followed a domestic 
 scene ; on all which Corentine reckoned when she 
 threw in her artful speech. To-day, however, it was 
 all-important that the master should not be irritated, 
 but prepared by skilful stages for the intended peti- 
 tion. He was talked to, for instance, about the health 
 of Loisillon, the perpetual secretary of the Academie, 
 who, it seemed, was getting worse and worse. Loi- 
 sillon's post and his rooms in the Institute were to 
 come to Leonard Astier as a compensation for the 
 office which he had lost ; and though he was really 
 attached to his dying colleague, still the prospect of 
 a good salary, an airy and comfortable residence, and 
 other advantages had its attractions. He was per- 
 haps ashamed to think of the death in this light, but 
 in the privacy of his household he did so without 
 blinking. But to-day even that did not bring a smile. 
 ' Poor M. Loisillon ! ' said Madame Asticr's thin 
 voice ; ' he begins to be uncertain about his words. 
 Lavaux was telling us yesterday at the Duchess's, he 
 can only say "a cu-curiosity, a cu-curiosity," and,' she 
 added, compressing her lips and drawing up her long 
 neck, ' he is on the Dictionary Committee.'
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 23 
 
 Astier-Rehu did not move an eyebrow. 
 
 ' It is not a bad story,' said he, clapping his jaw 
 with a magisterial air. ' But, as I have said some- 
 where in my history, in France the provisional is the 
 only thing that lasts. Loisillon has been dying any 
 time this ten years. He'll see every one of us buried 
 yet — every one of us,' he repeated angrily, pulling at 
 his dry bread. It was clear that Teyssedre had put 
 him into a very bad temper indeed. 
 
 Madame Asticr went to another subject, the 
 special meeting of all the five Academies, which was 
 to take place within a few days, and to be honoured 
 by the presence of the Grand Duke Leopold of 
 Finland. It so happened that Astier-Rehu, being 
 director for the coming quarter, was to preside at the 
 meeting and to deliver the opening speech, in which 
 his Highness was to receive a compliment. Skil- 
 fully questioned about this speech, which he was 
 already planning, Leonard described it in outline. 
 It was to be a crushing attack upon the modern 
 school of literature — a sound thrashing administered 
 in public to these pretenders, these dunces. And 
 at this his eyes, big with his heavy meal, lighted up 
 his square face, and the blood rose under his thick 
 bushy eyebrows. They were still coal-black, and 
 contrasted strangely with the white circle of his 
 beard. 
 
 ' By the way,' said he suddenly, ' what about my
 
 24 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 uniform coat ? Has it been seen to ? The last time 
 I wore it, at Montribot's funeral ' 
 
 But do not women think of everything ? Madame 
 Astier had seen to the coat that very morning. The 
 silk of the palm leaves was getting shabby ; the 
 lining was all to pieces. It was very old. Oh, dear, 
 when did he wear it first ? Why, it was as long ago 
 — as long ago — as when he was admitted ! The 
 twelfth of October, eighteen-sixty-six ! He had 
 better order a new one for the Meeting. The five 
 Academies, a Royal Highness, and all Paris ! Such 
 an audience was worth a new coat. Leonard pro- 
 tested, not energetically, on the ground of expense. 
 With a new coat he would want a new waistcoat ; 
 knee-breeches were not worn now, but a new waist- 
 coat would be indispensable. 
 
 4 My dear, you really must ! ' She continued to 
 press him. If they did not take care they would 
 make themselves ridiculous with their economy. 
 There were too many shabby old things about them. 
 The furniture of her room, for instance ! It made 
 her feel ashamed when a friend came in, and for a 
 sum comparatively trifling. 
 
 ' Ouais ! quelque sot,' muttered Astier-Rehu, who 
 liked to quote his classics. The furrow in his forehead 
 deepened, and under it, as under the bar of a shutter, 
 his countenance, which had been open for a minute,
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 25 
 
 shut up. Many a time had he supplied the means 
 to pay a milliner's bill, or a dressmaker's, or to re- 
 paper the walls, and after all no account had been 
 settled and no purchase made. All the money had 
 gone to that Charybdis in the Rue Fortuny. He 
 had had enough of it, and was not going to be caught 
 again. He rounded his back, fixed his eyes upon the 
 huge slice of Auvergne cheese which filled his plate, 
 and said no more. 
 
 Madame Astier was familiar with this dogged 
 silence. This attitude of passive resistance, dead as 
 a ball of cotton, was always put on when money was 
 mentioned. But this time she was resolved to make 
 him answer. ' Ah,' she said, ' I see you rolling up, 
 Master Hedgehog. I know the meaning of that. 
 " Nothing to be got ! nothing to be got ! No, no, 
 no ! " Eh ? ' The back grew rounder and rounder. 
 ' But you can find money for M. Fage.' Astier 
 started, sat up, and looked uneasily at his wife. 
 Money for M. Fage? What did she mean ? ' Why, 
 of course,' she went on, delighted to have forced the 
 barrier of his silence, ' of course it takes money to do 
 all that binding. And what's the good of it, I should 
 like to know, for all those old scraps ? ' 
 
 He felt relieved ; evidently she knew nothing ; 
 it was only a chance shot. 
 
 But the term ' old scraps ' went to his heart :
 
 26 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 unique autograph documents, signed letters of Riche- 
 lieu, Colbert, Newton, Galileo, Pascal, marvels bought 
 for an old song, and worth a fortune. 'Yes, 
 madam, a fortune.' He grew excited, and began to 
 quote figures, the offers that had been made him. 
 Bos, the famous Bos of the Rue de l'Abbaye (and he 
 knew his business if any one did), Bos had offered 
 him eight hundred pounds merely for three sped-, 
 mens from his collection — three letters from Charles 
 the Fifth to Francois Rabelais. Old scraps indeed ! 
 
 Madame Astier listened in utter amazement. 
 She was well aware that for the last two or three 
 years he had been collecting old manuscripts. He 
 used sometimes to speak to her of his finds, and 
 she listened in a wandering absent-minded way, as 
 a woman does listen to a man's voice when she has 
 heard it for thirty years. But this was beyond her 
 conception. Eight hundred pounds for three letters ! 
 And why did he not take it ? ' 
 
 He burst out like an explosion of dynamite. 
 
 ' Sell my Charles the Fifths ! Never ! I would 
 see you all without bread and begging from door to 
 door before I would touch them — understand that ! ' 
 He struck the table. His face was very pale, and 
 his lips thrust out. This fierce maniac was an Astier- 
 R^hu whom his wife did not know. In the sudden 
 glow of a passion human beings do thus take aspects
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 2"] 
 
 unknown to those who know them best. The next 
 
   
 
 minute the Academician was quite calm again, and 
 was explaining, not without embarrassment, that 
 these documents were indispensable to him as an 
 author, especially now that he could not command 
 the Records of the Foreign Office. To sell these 
 materials would be to give up writing. On the con- 
 trary, he hoped to make additions to them. Then, 
 with a touch of bitterness and affection, which be- 
 trayed the whole depth of the father's disappoint- 
 ment, he said, ' After my time, my fine gentleman of 
 a son may sell them if he chooses ; and since all he 
 wants is to be rich, I will answer for it that he 
 will be.' 
 
 ' Yes ; but meanwhile ' 
 
 This ' meanwhile ' was said in a little flute-like 
 voice so cruelly natural and quiet that Leonard, 
 unable to control his jealousy of this son who left 
 him no place in his wife's heart, retorted with a 
 solemn snap of the jaw, ' Meanwhile, madam, others 
 can do as I do. I have no mansion, I keep no 
 horses and no English cart. The tramway does for 
 my going and coming, and I am content to live on a 
 third floor over an entresol, where I am exposed to 
 Teyssedre. I work night and day, I pile up volume 
 after volume, two and three octavos in a year. I am 
 on two committees of the Academie ; I never miss a
 
 28 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 meeting ; I never miss a funeral ; and even in the 
 summer I never accept an invitation to the country, 
 lest I should miss a single tally. I hope my son, 
 when he is sixty-five, may be as indefatigable.' 
 
 It was long since he had spoken of Paul, and 
 never had he spoken so severely. The mother was 
 struck by his tone, and in her look, as she glanced 
 sidelong, almost wickedly, at her husband, there was 
 a shade of respect, which had not been there be- 
 fore. 
 
 ' There is a ring,' said Leonard eagerly, rising as 
 he spoke, and flinging his table napkin upon the back 
 of his chair. ' That must be my man.' 
 
 ' It's some one for you, ma'am ; they are begin- 
 ning early to-day,' said Corentine, as, with her kitchen- 
 maid's fingers wiped hastily on her apron, she laid 
 a card on the edge of the table. Madame Astier 
 looked at it. ' The Vicomte de Freydet.' A gleam 
 came into her eyes. But her delight was not percep- 
 tible in the calm tone in which she said, ' So M. de 
 Freydet is in Paris ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, about his book.' 
 
 ' Bless me ! His book ! I have not even cut it. 
 What is it about ? ' 
 
 She hurried over the last mouthfuls, and washed 
 the tips of her white fingers in her glass while her 
 husband in an absent-minded way gave her some
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 29 
 
 idea of the new volume. ' God in Nature/ a philo- 
 sophic poem, entered for the Boisscau prize. 
 
 ' Oh, I do hope he will get it. He must, he must. 
 They are so nice, he and his sister, and he is so good 
 to the poor paralysed creature. Do you think he 
 will ? ' 
 
 Astier would not commit himself. He could not 
 promise, but he would certainly recommend Freydet, 
 who seemed to him to be really improving. ' If 
 he asks you for my personal opinion, it is this : there 
 is still a little too much for my taste, but much less 
 than in his other books. You may tell him that his 
 old master is pleased.' 
 
 Too much of what ? Less of what ? It must be 
 supposed that Madame Astier knew, for she sought 
 no explanation, but left the table and passed, quite 
 happy, into her drawing room — as the study must be 
 considered for the day. Astier, more and more 
 absorbed in thought, lingered for some minutes, 
 breaking up with his knife what remained in his 
 plate of the Auvergne cheese ; then, being disturbed 
 in his meditations by Corentine, who, without heed- 
 ing him, was rapidly clearing the table, he rose stiffly 
 and went up, by a little staircase like a cat-ladder, 
 to his attic, where he took up his magnifying glass 
 and resumed the examination of the old manuscript 
 upon which he had been busy since the morning.
 
 30 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 SITTING straight, with the reins well held up in the 
 most correct fashion, Paul Astier drove his two- 
 wheeled cart at a stiff pace to the scene of his mys- 
 terious breakfast ' with some business people.' ' Tclk ! 
 tclk ! ' Past the Pont Royal, past the quays, past the 
 Place de la Concorde. The road was so smooth, the 
 day so fine, that as terraces, trees, and fountains went 
 by, it would have needed but a little imagination 
 on his part to believe himself carried away on the 
 wings of Fortune. But the young man was no 
 visionary, and as he bowled along he examined the 
 new leather and straps, and put questions about the 
 hay-merchant to his groom, a young fellow perched 
 at his side looking as cool and as sharp as a stable 
 terrier. The hay-merchant, it seemed, was as bad as 
 the rest of them, and grumbled about supplying the 
 fodder. 
 
 ' Oh, does he ? ' said Paul absently ; his mind had 
 already passed to another subject. His mother's 
 revelations ran in his head. Fifty-three years old ! 
 The beautiful Duchess Antonia, whose neck and
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 3 1 
 
 shoulders were the despair of Paris ! Utterly incre- 
 dible ! 'Tclk ! tclk ! ' He pictured her at Mousseaux 
 last summer, rising earlier than any of her guests, 
 wandering with her dogs in the park while the dew 
 was still on the ground, with loosened hair and 
 blooming lips ; she did not look made up, not a bit. 
 Fifty-three years old ? Impossible ! 
 
 « Tclk, tclk ! Hi ! Hi ! ' That's a nasty corner 
 between the Rond Pont and the Avenue d'Antin. — 
 All the same, it was a low trick they were playing 
 her, to find a wife for the Prince. For let his mother 
 say what she would, the Duchess and her drawing- 
 room had been a fine thing for them all. Perhaps his 
 father might never have been in the Academie but 
 for her ; he himself owed her all his commissions. 
 Then there was the succession to Loisillon's place 
 and the prospect of the fine rooms under the cupola 
 — well, there was nothing like a woman for flinging 
 you over. Not that men were any better ; the Prince 
 d'Athis, for instance. To think what the Duchess 
 had done for him ! When they met he was a ruined 
 and penniless rip ; now what was he ? High in the 
 diplomatic service, member of the Academie des 
 Sciences Morales et Politiques, on account of a book 
 not a word of which he had written himself, 'The 
 Mission of Woman in the World' And while the 
 Duchess was busily at work to fit him with an Em-
 
 32 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 bassy, he was only waiting to be gazetted before 
 taking French leave and playing off this dirty trick 
 on her, after fifteen years of uninterrupted happiness. 
 'The mission of woman in the world!' Well, the 
 Prince understood what the mission of woman was. 
 The next thing was to better the lesson. ' Tclk ! tclk ! 
 Gate, please.' 
 
 Paul's soliloquy was over, and his cart drew up 
 before a mansion in the Rue de Courcelles. The 
 double gates were rolled back slowly and heavily as 
 if accomplishing a task to which they had long been 
 unused. 
 
 In this house lived the Princess Colette de Rosen, 
 who had shut herself up in the complete seclusion of 
 mourning since the sad occurrence which had made 
 her a widow at twenty-six. The daily papers recorded 
 the details of the young widow's sensational despair : 
 how the fair hair was cut off close and thrown into 
 the coffin ; how her room was decorated as for a lying 
 in state ; how she took her meals alone with two places 
 laid, while on the table in the anteroom lay as usual 
 the Prince's walking stick, hat, and gloves, as though 
 he were at home and just going out. But one detail 
 had not been mentioned, and that was the devoted 
 affection and truly maternal care which Madame 
 Asticr showed for the ' poor little woman ' in these 
 distressing circumstances.
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 33 
 
 Their friendship had begun some years ago, when 
 a prize for an historical work had been adjudged to 
 the Prince de Rosen by the Academic, ' on the report 
 of Astier-Rehu.' Differences of age and social posi- 
 tion had however kept them apart until the Princess's 
 mourning removed the barrier. When the widow's 
 door was solemnly closed against society, Madame 
 Astier alone escaped the interdict. Madame Astier 
 was the only person allowed to cross the threshold of 
 the mansion, or rather the convent, inhabited by the 
 poor weeping Carmelite with her shaven head and 
 robe of black ; Madame Astier was the only person 
 admitted to hear the mass sung twice a week at St. 
 Philip's for the repose of Herbert's soul ; and it was 
 she who heard the letters which Colette wrote every 
 evening to her absent husband, relating her life anc 
 the way she spent her days. All mourning, however 
 rigid, involves attention to material details which are 
 degrading to grief but demanded by society. Liveries 
 must be ordered, trappings provided for horses and 
 carriages, and the heartbroken mourner must face the 
 hypocritical sympathy of the tradesman. All these 
 duties were discharged by Madame Astier with never- 
 failing patience. She undertook the heavy task of 
 managing the household, which the tear-laden eyes of 
 its fair mistress could no longer supervise, and so 
 spared the young widow all that could disturb her 
 
 D
 
 34 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 despair, or disarrange her hours for praying, weeping, 
 writing ' to him,' and carrying armfuls of exotic flowers 
 to the cemetery of Pere Lachaise, where Paul Astier 
 was superintending the erection of a gigantic mauso- 
 leum in commemorative stone brought at the express 
 wish of the Princess from the scene of the tragedy. 
 
 Unfortunately the quarrying of this stone and its 
 conveyance from Illyria, the difficulties of carving 
 granite, and the endless plans and varying fancies of 
 the widow, to whom nothing seemed sufficiently huge 
 and magnificent to suit her dead hero, had brought 
 about many hitches and delays. So it happened that 
 in May 1880, two years and more after the catastrophe 
 and the commencement of the work, the monument 
 was still unfinished. Two years is a long time to 
 maintain the constant paroxysms of an ostentatious 
 grief, each sufficient to discharge the whole. The 
 mourning was still observed as rigidly as ever, the 
 house was still closed and silent as a cave. But in 
 the place of the living statue weeping and praying in 
 the furthest recesses of the crypt, was now a pretty 
 young woman whose hair was growing again, instinct 
 with life in every curl and wave of its soft luxuriance. 
 The reappearance of this fair hair gave a touch of 
 lightness, almost of brightness, to the widow's mourn- 
 ing, which seemed now no more than a caprice of 
 fashion. In the movements and tones of the Princess
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY 35 
 
 was perceptible the stirring of spring ; she had the 
 air of relief and repose noticeable in young widows 
 in the second period of their mourning. It is a 
 delightful position. For the first time after the 
 restraints of girlhood and the restraints of marriage, 
 a woman enjoys the sweets of liberty and undisputed 
 possession of herself; she is freed from contact with 
 the coarser nature of man, and above all from the 
 fear of maternity, the haunting terror of the young 
 wife of the present day. In the case of the Princess 
 Colette the natural development of uncontrollable 
 grief into perfect peacefulness was emphasised by 
 the paraphernalia of inconsolable widowhood with 
 which she was still surrounded. It was not hypocrisy; 
 but how could she give orders, without raising a 
 smile on the servants' faces, to remove the hat always 
 waiting in the ante-room, the walking stick con- 
 spicuously handy, the place at table always laid for 
 the absent husband ; how could she say, ' The Prince 
 will not dine to-night ' ? But the mystic correspond- 
 ence ' with Herbert in heaven ' had begun to fall off, 
 growing less frequent every day, till it ended in a 
 calmly written journal which caused considerable, 
 though unexpressed, amusement to Colette's discern- 
 ing friend. 
 
 The fact was that Madame Astier had a plan. 
 The idea had sprung up in her practical little mind 
 
 ©2
 
 36 ONE OF THE * FORTY' 
 
 one Tuesday night at the Theatre Frangais, when the 
 Prince d'Athis had said to her confidentially in a low 
 voice : ' Oh, my dear Adelaide, what a chain to drag ! 
 I am bored to death.' She at once planned to marry 
 him to the Princess. It was a new game to play, 
 crossing the old game, but not less subtle and fasci- 
 nating. She had not now to hold forth upon the 
 eternal nature of vows, or to hunt up in Joubert or 
 other worthy philosophers such mottoes as the follow- 
 ing, which the Princess had written out at the begin- 
 ning of her wedding book : ' A woman can be wife 
 and widow with honour but once.' She no longer 
 went into raptures over the manly beauty of the 
 young hero, whose portrait, full length and half length, 
 profile and three-quarters, in marble and on canvas, 
 met you in every part of the house. 
 
 It was her system now to bring him gradually 
 and dexterously down. ' Do you not think, dear,' she 
 would say, ' that these portraits of the Prince make 
 his jaw too heavy? Of course I know the lower 
 part of his face was rather pronounced, a little too 
 massive.' And so she administered a series of little 
 poisonous stabs, with an indescribable skill and 
 gentleness, drawing back when she went too far, and 
 watching for Colette's smile at some criticism a little 
 sharper than the rest. Working in this way she at 
 last brought Colette to admit that Herbert had
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 37 
 
 always had a touch of the boor ; his manners were 
 scarcely up to his rank ; he had not, for instance, the 
 distinguished air of the Prince d'Athis, 'whom we 
 met a few Sundays ago on the steps of St. Philip's. 
 If you should fancy him, dear, he is looking for a 
 wife.' This last remark was thrown out as a jest ; 
 but presently Madame Astier recurred to it and put 
 it more definitely. Well, why should the Princess 
 not marry him ? It would be most suitable ; the 
 Prince had a good name, a diplomatic position of 
 some importance ; the marriage would involve no 
 alteration of the Princess's coronet or title — a practical 
 convenience not to be overlooked. ' And, indeed, if 
 I am to tell you the truth, dear, the Prince entertains 
 towards you an affection which ' . . . &c. &c. 
 
 The word ' affection ' at first hurt the Princess's 
 feelings, but she soon grew used to hear it. They 
 met the Prince d'Athis at church, then in great 
 privacy at Madame Astier's in the Rue de Beaune, 
 and Colette soon admitted that he was the only man 
 who might have induced her to abandon her widow- 
 hood. But then poor dear Herbert had loved her so 
 devotedly — she had been his all. 
 
 ' Really,' said Madame Astier with the quiet smile 
 of a person who knows. Then followed allusions, 
 hints, and all the devices by which one woman 
 poisons the mind of another.
 
 38 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 ' Why, my dear, there is no such thing in the 
 world. A man of good breeding — a gentleman— will 
 take care, for the sake of peace, not to give his wife 
 pain or distress. But ' 
 
 ' Then you mean that Herbert ' 
 
 ' Was no better than the rest of them.' 
 The Princess, with an indignant protest, burst 
 into tears ; painless, passionless tears, such as ease a 
 woman, and leave her as fresh as a lawn after a 
 shower. But still she did not give way, to the great 
 annoyance of Madame Astier, who had no conception 
 of the real cause of her ^obduracy. 
 
 The truth was that frequent meetings to criticise 
 the scheme of the mausoleum, much touching of 
 hands and mingling of locks over the plans and 
 sketches of cells and sepulchral figures, had created 
 between Paul and Colette a fellow feeling which had 
 gradually grown more and more tender, until one 
 day Paul Astier detected in Colette's eyes as she 
 looked at him an expression that almost confessed 
 her liking. There rose before him as a possibility 
 the miraculous vision of Colette de Rosen bringing 
 him her million as a marriage gift. That might be 
 in a short time, after a preliminary trial of patience, 
 a regularly Conducted beleaguering of the fortress. 
 In the first place it was most important to betray no 
 hint to ' mamma,' who, though very cunning and
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 39 
 
 subtle, was likely to fail through excess of zeal, 
 especially when the interests of her Paul were at 
 stake. She would spoil all the chances in her eager- 
 ness to hasten the successful issue. So Paul concealed 
 his plans from Madame Astier, in entire ignorance 
 that she was running a countermine in the same line 
 as his. He acted on his own account with great 
 deliberation. The Princess was attracted by his youth 
 and fashion, his brightness and his witty irony, from 
 which he carefully took the venom. He knew that 
 women, like children and the mob, and all impulsive 
 and untutored beings, hate a tone of sarcasm, which 
 puts them out, and which they perceive by instinct 
 to be hostile to the dreams of enthusiasm and 
 romance. 
 
 On this spring morning it was with feelings of 
 more confidence than usual that young Astier reached 
 the house. This was the first time that he had been 
 asked to breakfast at the Rosen mansion ; the reason 
 alleged was a visit which they were to make together 
 to the cemetery, in order to inspect the works on the 
 spot. With an unexpressed understanding they had 
 fixed on a Wednesday, the day when Madame Astier 
 was 'at home,' so as not to have her as a third 
 in the party. With this thought in his mind the 
 young man, self-controlled as he was, let fall as he 
 crossed the threshold a careless glance which took in
 
 40 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 
 
 the large courtyard and magnificent offices almost as 
 if he were entering on the possession of them. His 
 spirits fell as he passed through the ante-room, where 
 the footmen and lacqueys in deep mourning were 
 dozing on their seats. They seemed to be keeping a 
 funeral vigil round the hat of the defunct, a magnifi- 
 cent grey hat, which proclaimed the arrival of spring 
 as well as the determination with which his memory 
 was kept up by the Princess. Paul was much annoyed 
 by it ; it was like meeting a rival. He did not 
 realise the difficulty which prevented Colette from 
 escaping the self-forged fetters of her custom. He 
 was wondering angrily whether she would expect 
 him to breakfast in company with him, when the 
 footman who relieved him of his walking stick and 
 hat informed him that the Princess would receive 
 him in the small drawing-room. He was shown at 
 once into the rotunda with its glass roof, a bower of 
 exotic plants, and was completely reassured by the 
 sight of a little table with places laid for two, the 
 arrangement of which Madame de Rosen was herself 
 superintending. 
 
 ' A fancy of mine,' she said, pointing to the table, 
 ' when I saw how fine it was. It will be almost like 
 the country.' 
 
 She had spent the night considering how she 
 could avoid sitting down with this handsome young
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 41 
 
 man in the presence of his knife and fork, and, not 
 knowing what to say to the servants, had devised the 
 plan of abandoning the situation and ordering break- 
 fast, as a sudden whim, ' in the conservatory.' 
 
 Altogether the ' business ' breakfast promised well. 
 The Romany blanc lay to keep cool in the rocky 
 basin of the fountain, amidst ferns and water plants, 
 and the sun shone on the pieces of spar and on the 
 bright smooth green of the outspread leaves. The 
 two young people sat opposite one another, their 
 knees almost touching : he quite self-possessed, his 
 light eyes cold and fiery ; she all pink and white, her 
 new growth of hair, like a delicate wavy plumage, 
 showing without any artificial arrangement the shape 
 of her little head. And while they talked on indif- 
 ferent topics, both concealing their real thoughts, 
 young Astier exulted each time that the silent ser- 
 vants opened the door of the deserted dining-room, 
 when he saw in the distance the napkin of the 
 departed, left for the first tirrte cheerless and alone.
 
 42 ONE OF THE * FORTY' 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 From the Vicomte de Freydet 
 
 To Mademoiselle Germaine de Freydet, 
 
 Clos Jallanges, 
 near Mousseaux, 
 Loir et Cher. 
 
 My dear Sister, — I am going to give you a 
 precise account of the way I spend my time in Paris. 
 I shall write every evening, and send you the budget 
 twice a week, as long as I stay here. 
 
 Well, I arrived this morning, Monday, and took 
 up my quarters as usual in my quiet little hotel in 
 the Rue Servandoni, where the only sounds of the 
 great city which reach me are the bells of Saint 
 Sulpice, and the continual noise from a neighbouring 
 forge, a sound of the rhythmical beating of iron, 
 which I love because it reminds me of our village. I 
 rushed off at once to my publisher. ' Well, when do 
 we come out ? ' 
 
 ' Your book ? Why, it came out a week 
 ago.' 
 
 Come out, indeed, and gone in too — gone into the
 
 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 43 
 
 depths of that grim establishment of Marrivet's, which 
 never ceases to pant and to reek with the labour of 
 giving birth to a new volume. This Monday, as it 
 happened, they were just sending out a great novel 
 by Herscher, called Satyra. The copies struck off — 
 how many hundreds of thousands of them I don't 
 know — were lying in stacks and heaps right up to 
 the very top of the establishment. You can fancy 
 the preoccupation of the staff, and the lost bewildered 
 look of worthy Manivet himself, when I mentioned 
 my poor little volume of verse, and talked of my 
 chances for the Boisseau prize. I asked for a few 
 copies to leave with the members of the committee 
 of award, and made my escape through streets — 
 literally streets — of Satyra, piled up to the ceiling. 
 When I got into my cab, I looked at my volume and 
 turned over the pages. I was quite pleased with the 
 solemn effect of the title, ' God in Nature.' The 
 capitals are perhaps a trifle thin, when you come to 
 look at them, not quite as black and impressive to 
 the eye as they might be. But it does not matter. 
 Your pretty name, ' Germaine,' in the dedication will 
 bring us luck. I left a couple of copies at the Astiers' 
 in the Rue de Beaune. You know they no longer 
 occupy their rooms at the Foreign Office. But 
 Madame Astier has still her ' Wednesdays.' So of 
 course I wait till Wednesday to hear what my old
 
 44 ONE OF THE * FORTY' 
 
 master thinks of the book ; and off I went to the 
 Institute. 
 
 There again I found them as busy as a steam 
 factory. Really the industry of this big city is mar- 
 vellous, especially to people like us, who spend all 
 the year in the peace of the open country. Found 
 Picheral — you remember Picheral, the polite gentle- 
 man in the secretary's office, who got you such a 
 good place three years ago, when I received my 
 prize — well, I found Picheral and his clerks in the 
 midst of a wild hubbub of voices, shouting out names 
 and addresses from one desk to another, and sur- 
 rounded on all sides by tickets of every kind, blue, 
 yellow, and green, for the platform, for the outer 
 circle, for the orchestra, Entrance A, Entrance B, &c. 
 They were in the middle of sending out the invita- 
 tions for the great annual meeting, which is to be 
 honoured this year by the presence of a Royal High- 
 ness on his travels, the Grand Duke Leopold. ' Very 
 sorry, my lord ' — Picheral always says ' my lord,' 
 having learnt it, no doubt, from Chateaubriand— 'but 
 I must ask you to wait.' ' Certainly, M. Picheral, 
 certainly.' 
 
 Picheral is an amusing old gentleman, very courtly. 
 He reminds me of Bonicar and our lessons in deport- 
 ment in the covered gallery at grandmamma's house 
 at Jallanges. He is as touchy, too, when crossed, as
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 45 
 
 the old dancing-master used to be. I wish you had 
 heard him talk to the Comte de Bretigny, the ex- 
 minister, one of the grandees of the Academie, who 
 came in, while I was waiting, to rectify a mistake 
 about the number of his tallies. I must tell you that 
 the tally attesting attendance is worth five shillings, 
 the old crown-piece. There are forty Academicians, 
 which makes two hundred shillings per meeting, to 
 be divided among those present ; so, you see, the 
 fewer they are, the more money each gets. Payment 
 is made once a month in crown-pieces, kept in stout 
 paper bags, each with its little reckoning pinned on 
 to it, like a washing bill. Bretigny had not his com- 
 plete number of tallies ; and it was the most amusing 
 sight to see this man of enormous wealth, director of 
 Heaven knows how many companies, come there in 
 his carriage to claim his ten shillings. He only got 
 five, which sum, after a long dispute, Picheral tossed 
 to him with as little respect as to a porter. But the 
 ' deity ' pocketed them with inexpressible joy ; there 
 is nothing like money won by the sweat of your brow. 
 For, my dear Germaine, you must not imagine that 
 there is any idling in the Academie. Every year 
 there are fresh bequests, new prizes instituted ; that 
 means more books to read, more reports to engross, 
 to say nothing of the dictionary and the orations. 
 ' Leave your book at their houses, but do not go in,'
 
 46 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 said Pichcral, when he heard I was competing for 
 the prize. ' The extra work, which people are always 
 putting on the members, makes them anything but 
 gracious to a candidate.' 
 
 I certainly have not forgotten the way Ripault- 
 Babin and Laniboire received me, when I called on 
 them about my last candidature. Of course, when 
 the candidate is a pretty woman, it is another story. 
 Laniboire becomes jocose, and Ripault-Babin, still 
 gallant in spite of his eighty years, offers the fair 
 canvasser a lozenge, and says in his quavering voice, 
 ' Touch it with your lips, and I will finish it.' So 
 they told me in the secretary's office, where the deities 
 are discussed with a pleasing frankness. ' You are in 
 for the Boisseau prize. Let me see ; you have for 
 awarders two Dukes, three Mouldies, and two Players.' 
 Such, in the office, is the familiar classification of the 
 Academie Franchise ! ' Duke ' is the name applied 
 to all members of the nobility and episcopacy ; 
 Mouldies' includes the professors and the learned 
 men generally ; while a ' Player ' denotes a lawyer, 
 dramatic author, journalist, or novelist. 
 
 After ascertaining the addresses of my Dukes, 
 Mouldies, and Players, I gave one of my ' author's 
 copies' to the friendly M. Picheral, and, for form's 
 sake, left another for poor M. Loisillon, the Permanent 
 Secretary, who is said to be all but dead. Then I set
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 47 
 
 to work to distribute the remaining copies all over 
 Paris. The weather was glorious. As I passed 
 through the Bois de Boulogne on my way back from 
 the house of Ripault-Babin (which reminded me of 
 the lozenges), the place was sweet with may and 
 violets. I almost fancied myself at home again on 
 one of those first days of early spring when the air is 
 fresh and the sun hot ; and I was inclined to give up 
 everything and come back to you at Jallangcs. 
 Dined on the boulevard alone and gloomy, and then 
 spent the rest of my evening at the Comedie Fran- 
 chise, where they were playing Desminieres' ' Le Der- 
 nier Fronting Desminieres is one of the awarders of 
 the Boisseau prize, so I shall tell no one but you how 
 his verses bored me. The heat and gas gave me a 
 headache. The actors played as if Louis XIV. had 
 been listening ; and while they spouted alexandrines, 
 suggestive of the unrolling of a mummy's bands, I 
 was still haunted by the scent of the hawthorn at 
 Jallanges, and repeated to myself the pretty lines of 
 Du Bellay, a fellow-countryman, or a neighbour at 
 least : 
 
 More than your marbles hard I love the tender slate, 
 Than Tiber more the Loire, and France than Rome, 
 Mine own dear hills than Palatinus' state, 
 
 More than the salt sea breeze the fragrant air of home. 
 
 Tuesday. — Walked about the town all the morn-
 
 48 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 ing, stopping in front of the booksellers' shops to 
 look for my book in the windows. Satyra, Satyra, 
 Satyra ! Satyra and nothing else to be seen every- 
 where, with a paper slip round it, ' Just out' Here 
 and there, but very seldom, there would be a poor 
 miserable God in Nature tucked away out of sight. 
 When no one was looking I put it on the top of the 
 heap, well in view ; but people did not stop. One 
 man did, though, in the Boulevard des Italiens, a 
 negro, a very intelligent-looking fellow. He turned 
 over the pages for five minutes, and then went away 
 without buying the book. I should have liked to 
 present it to him. 
 
 Breakfasted in the corner of an English eating- 
 house, and read the papers. Not a word about me, 
 not even an advertisement. Manivet is so careless, 
 very likely he has not so much as sent the orders, 
 though he declared he had. Besides, there are so 
 many new books. Paris is deluged with them. But 
 for all that it is depressing to think that verses, which 
 ran like fire through one's fingers, which seemed, in 
 the feverish delight of writing them, beautiful enough 
 to fill the world with brightness, are more lost now that 
 they are gone into circulation, than when they were 
 but a confused murmuring in the brain of their 
 author. It reminds one of a ball-dress. When it is 
 tried on in the sympathetic family circle, it is ex-
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 49 
 
 pected to outshine and eclipse every dress in the 
 room ; but under the blaze of the gas it is lost in 
 the crowd. Well, Herscher is a lucky fellow. He is 
 read and understood. I met ladies carrying snugly 
 under their arms the little yellow volume just issued. 
 Alas, for us poor poets ! It is all very well for us 
 to rank ourselves above and beyond the crowd. It 
 is for the crowd, after all, that we write. When 
 Robinson Crusoe was on his desert island, cut off 
 from all the world and without so much as the hope 
 of seeing a sail on the horizon, would he have written 
 verses, even if he had been a poetic genius ? Thought 
 about this a great deal as I tramped through the 
 Champs Elysees, lost, like my book, in an unregarding 
 stream. 
 
 I was coming back to my hotel, pretty glum, as 
 you may imagine, when on the Quai d'Orsay, just in 
 front of the grass-grown ruin of the Cour des Comptes, 
 I knocked against a big fellow, strolling along in a 
 brown study. ' Hullo, Freydet ! ' said he. ' Hullo, V6- 
 drine ! ' said I. You'll remember my friend Ve\drine 
 who, when he was working at Mousseaux, came with 
 his sweet young wife to spend an afternoon at Clos- 
 Jallanges. He is not a bit altered, except that he is 
 a trifle grey at the temples. He held by the hand 
 the fine boy with the beaming eyes, whom you used 
 to admire. His head was erect, his movements slow 
 
 E
 
 50 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 and eloquent, his whole carriage that of a superior 
 being. A little way behind was Madame Vedrine 
 pushing a perambulator, in which was a laughing little 
 girl, born since their visit to Touraine. 
 
 'That makes three for her, counting me,' said 
 Vedrine, with a wave of his hand towards his wife ; 
 and the look of Madame when her eye rests on her 
 husband really does express the tender satisfaction of 
 motherhood ; she is like a Flemish Madonna con- 
 templating her Divine Child. Talked a long time, 
 leaning against the parapet of the quay ; it did me 
 good to be with these honest folk. That is a man, 
 anyhow, who cares nothing whatever for success, and 
 the public, and the prizes ! With his connections (he 
 is cousin to Loisillon and to the Baron d'Huchenard), 
 if he chose — if he just put a little water into his 
 strong wine — he might have orders, and get the 
 Biennial Prize, and be in the Institute in no time. 
 But nothing tempts him, not even fame. ' Fame,' he 
 said, ' I have had a taste of it. I know what it is. 
 When a man's smoking, he sometimes gets his cigar 
 by the wrong end. Well, that's fame : just a cigar 
 with the hot end and ash in your mouth.' 
 
 ' But, Vedrine,' said I, ' if you work neither for fame 
 
 nor for money yes, yes, I know you despise it ; 
 
 but, that being so, I say, why do you take so much 
 trouble ? '
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 5 1 
 
 ' For myself and my personal satisfaction. It's the 
 desire for creation and self-expression.' 
 
 Clearly here is a man who would have gone on 
 with his work in the desert island. He is a true 
 artist, ever in quest of a new type, and in the inter- 
 vals of his labour endeavours by change of material 
 and change of conditions to satisfy his craving for 
 a fresh revelation. He has made pottery, enamels, 
 mosaics, the fine mosaics so much admired in the 
 guard-room at Mousseaux. When the thing is done, 
 the difficulty overcome, he goes on to something 
 else. At the present moment his great idea is to 
 try painting ; and the moment he has finished his 
 warrior, a great bronze figure for the Rosen tomb, he 
 intends, as he says, ' to put himself to oil' His wife 
 always gives her approval, and rides behind him on 
 each of his hobbies. The right wife for an artist 
 taciturn, admiring, saving the grown-up boy from all 
 that might spoil his dream or catch his feet as he 
 goes star-gazing along. She is the sort of woman 
 dear Germaine, to make a man want to be married. 
 If I knew another such, I should certainly bring her 
 to Clos-Jallanges, and I am sure you would love her. 
 But do not be alarmed. There are not many of them ; 
 and we shall go on to the end, living just by our two 
 selves, as we do now. 
 
 Before we parted we fixed another meeting for 
 
 E 2
 
 52 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 Thursday, not at their house at Neuilly, but at the 
 studio on the Quai d'Orsay, where the whole family 
 spend the day together. This studio would seem to 
 be the strangest place. It is in a corner of the old 
 Cour des Comptes. He has got permission to do 
 his work there, in the midst of wild vegetation and 
 mouldering heaps of stone. As I went away I turned 
 to watch them walking along the quay, father, 
 mother, and children, all enveloped in the calm light 
 of the setting sun, which made a halo round them like 
 a Holy Family. Strung together a few lines on the 
 subject in the evening at my hotel ; but I am put out 
 by having neighbours, and do not like to spout. I 
 want my large study at Jallanges, with its three 
 windows looking out on the river and the sloping 
 vineyards. 
 
 And now we come to Wednesday, the great day 
 and the great event ! I will tell you the story in 
 full. I confess that I had been looking forward 
 to my call on the Astiers with much trepidation, 
 which increased to-day as I went up the broad 
 moist steps of the staircase in the Rue de Beaune. 
 What was I going to hear said about my book? 
 Would my old master have had time to glance 
 at it? His opinion means for me so very much. 
 He inspires me still with the same awe as when 
 I was in his class, and in his presence I shall
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 53 
 
 always feel myself a schoolboy. His unerring and 
 impartial judgment must be that of the awarders 
 of the prize. So you may guess the tortures of 
 impatience which I underwent in the master's 
 large study, which he gives up to his wife for her 
 reception. 
 
 It's sadly different from the room at the Foreign 
 Office. The table at which he writes is pushed away 
 into a recess behind a great screen covered in old 
 tapestry, which also hides part of the bookshelves. 
 Opposite, in the place of honour, is a portrait of 
 Madame Astier in her young days, wonderfully like 
 her son, and also like old Rehu, whose acquaintance 
 I have just had the honour of making. The portrait 
 has a somewhat depressing air of elegance, cold and 
 polished, like the large uncarpeted room itself, with 
 its sombre curtains and its outlook on a still more 
 sombre courtyard. But in comes Madame Astier, 
 and her friendly greeting brightens all the surround- 
 ings. What is there in the air of Paris which pre- 
 serves the beauty of a woman's face beyond the 
 natural term, like a pastel under its glass? The 
 delicate blonde with her keen eyes looked to me three 
 years younger than when I saw her last. She began 
 by asking after you, and how you were, dearest, 
 showing great interest in our domestic life. Then 
 suddenly she said : ' But your book, let us talk about
 
 54 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 your book. How splendid ! You kept me reading 
 all night.' And she showered upon me well-chosen 
 words of praise, quoted two or three lines with great 
 appropriateness, and assured me that my old master 
 was delighted ; he had begged her to tell me so, in 
 case he should not be able to tear himself from his 
 documents. 
 
 Red as you know I always am, I must have 
 turned as scarlet as after a hunt dinner. But my 
 joy soon passed away when I heard what the poor 
 woman was led on into confiding to me about their 
 embarrassments. They have lost money ; then came 
 Astier's dismissal ; now the master works night and 
 day at his historical books, which take so long to 
 construct and cost so much to produce, and then are 
 not bought by the public. Then they have to help 
 old Rehu, the grandfather, who has nothing but his 
 fees for attendance at the Acade'mie ; and at his age, 
 ninety-eight, you may imagine the care and indul- 
 gence necessary. Paul is a gcod son, hardworking, 
 and on the road to success, but of course the initial 
 expenses of his profession are tremendous. So 
 Madame Astier conceals their narrow means from 
 him as well as from her husband. Poor dear man ! 
 I heard his heavy even step overhead while his wife 
 was stammering out, with trembling lips and hesitat- 
 ing, reluctant words, a request that if I could
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 55 
 
 Ah, the adorable woman ! I could have kissed the 
 hem of her dress ! 
 
 Now, my rVar sister, you will understand the 
 telegram you must have received a little while ago, 
 and who the £400 were for that I asked for by 
 return of post. I suppose you sent to Gobineau at 
 once. The only reason I did not telegraph direct to 
 him is that, as we ' go shares ' in everything, our freaks 
 of liberality ought, like the rest, to be common to 
 both. B *: it is terrible, is it not, to think of the 
 misery concealed under these brilliant and showy 
 Parisian exteriors ? 
 
 Five minutes after she had made these distressing 
 disclosures people arrived and the room was full ; 
 Madame Astier was conversing with a complete self- 
 possession and an appearance of happiness in voice 
 and manner which made my flesh creep. Madame 
 Loisillon was there, the wife of the Permanent Secre- 
 tary. She would be much better employed in looking 
 after her invalid than in boring society with the 
 charms of their delightful suite, the most comfortable 
 in the Institute, ' with three rooms more than it had 
 in Villemain's time.' She must have told us this ten 
 times, in the pompous voice of an auctioneer, and in 
 the hearing of a friend living uncomfortably in rooms 
 lately used for a table d'hote I 
 
 No fear of such bad taste in Madame Ancelin,
 
 56 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 a name often to be seen in the Society papers. 
 A good fat round lady, with regular features and 
 high complexion, piping out epigrams, which she 
 picks up and carries round : a friendly creature, it 
 must be allowed. She too had sat up all night read- 
 ing me. I begin to think it is the regular phrase. 
 She begged me to come to her house whenever I 
 liked. It is one of the three recognised meeting- 
 places of the Academic Picheral would say that 
 Madame Ancelin, mad on the theatre, welcomes 
 more especially the ' Players,' Madame Astier the 
 ' Mouldies,' while the Duchess Padovani monopolises 
 the ' Dukes,' the aristocracy of the Institute. But 
 really these three haunts of fame and intrigue com- 
 municate one with another, for on Wednesday in the 
 Rue de Beaune I saw a whole procession of deities 
 of every description. There was Danjou the writer 
 of plays, Rousse, Boissier, Dumas, de Bretigny, 
 Baron Huchenard of the Inscriptions et Belles- 
 Lettres, and the Prince d'Athis of the Sciences 
 Morales et Politiques. There is a fourth circle in 
 process of formation, collected round Madame Eviza, 
 a Jewess with full cheeks and long narrow eyes, 
 who flirts with the whole Institute and sports its 
 colours ; she has green embroideries on the waistcoat 
 of her spring costume, and a little bonnet trimmed 
 with wings a la Mercury. She carries her fiirta-
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 57 
 
 tions a little too far. I heard her say to Danjou, 
 whom she was asking to come and see her, ' The 
 attractions of Madame Ancelin's house are for the 
 palate, those of mine for the heart.' 
 
 1 I require both lodging and board,' was the cold 
 reply of Danjou. Danjou, I believe, covers the heart 
 of a cynic under his hard i ipenetrable mask and his 
 black stiff thatch, like a shepherd of Latium. Madame 
 Eviza is a fine talker, and is mistress of consider- 
 able information ; I heard her quoting to the old 
 Baron Huchenard whole sentences from his 'Cave 
 Man,' and discussing Shelley with a boyish magazine 
 writer, neat and solemn, with a pointed chin resting 
 on the top of a high collar. 
 
 When I was young it was the fashion to begin 
 with verse-writing, whatever was to follow, whether 
 prose, business, or the bar. Nowadays people begin 
 with literary criticism, generally a study on Shelley. 
 Madame Astier introduced me to this young gen- 
 tleman, whose views carry weight in the literary 
 world ; but my moustaches and the colour of my 
 skin, as brown as that of a sapper-and-miner, pro- 
 bably failed to please him. We spoke only a few 
 words, while I watched the performance of the candi- 
 dates and their wives or relatives, who had come to 
 show themselves and to see how the ground lay. 
 Ripault-Babm is very old, and Loisillon cannot last
 
 58 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 much longer; and around these seats, which must 
 soon be vacant, rages a war of angry looks and 
 poisoned words. 
 
 Dalzon the novelist, your favourite, was there ; he 
 has a kindly, open, intellectual face, as you would 
 expect from his books. But you would have been 
 sorry to see him cringing and sniggering before a 
 nobody like Bretigny, who has never done anything, 
 but occupies in the Academie the seat reserved for 
 the man of the world, a 3 in the country we keep a 
 place for the poor man in our Twelfth Night festivi- 
 ties. And not only did he court Bretigny, but every 
 Academician who cau.e in. There he was, listening 
 to old Rehu's stories, laughing at Danjou's smallest 
 jokes with the 'counterfeited glee' with which at 
 Louis-le-Grand we rewarded what Vedrine used to 
 call ' usher's wit.' All this to bring his twelve votes 
 of last year up to the required majority. 
 
 Old Jean Rihu looked in at his granddaughter's 
 for a few minutes, wonderfully fresh and erect, well 
 buttoned up in a long frock coat. He has a little 
 shrivelled face, looking as if it had been in the fire, 
 and a short cottony beard, like moss on an old stone. 
 His eyes are bright and his memory marvellous, but 
 he is deaf, and this depresses him and drives him 
 into long soliloquies about his interesting personal 
 recollections. To-day he told us about the house-
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 59 
 
 hold of the Empress Josephine at Malmaison ; his 
 'compatriote,' he calls her, both being Creoles from 
 Martinique. He described her, in her muslins and 
 cashmere shawls, smelling of musk so strongly as to 
 take one's breath away, and surrounded with flowers 
 from the colonies. Even in war time these flowers, 
 by the gallantry of the enemy, were allowed to pass 
 the lines of their fleet. He also talked of David's 
 studio, as it was under the Consulate, and did us the 
 painter, rating and scolding his pupils with his 
 mouth all awry and the remains of his dinner in his 
 cheek. After each extract from the long roll of his 
 experience, the patriarch shakes his head solemnly, 
 gazes into space, and says in his firm tones, 'That's 
 a thing that I have seen.' It is his signature, as 
 it were, put at the bottom of the picture to prove it 
 genuine. I ought to say that, with the exception of 
 Dalzon, who pretended to be drinking in his words, I 
 was the only person in the room who attended to the 
 old man's tales. They seemed to me much more 
 worth hearing than the stories of a certain Lavaux, 
 a journalist, or librarian, or something — a dreadful 
 retailer of gossip, whatever else he may be. The 
 moment he came in there was a general cry, ' Ah, 
 here's Lavaux ! ' and a circle was formed round him 
 at once, all laughing and enjoying themselves. Even 
 the frowning ' deities ' revel in his anecdotes. He
 
 60 ©NE OF THE c FORTY ' 
 
 has a smooth-shaven, quasi-clerical face and goggle 
 eyes. He prefaces all his tales and witticisms with 
 such remarks as 'I was saying to De Broglie,' or 
 ' Dumas told me the other day,' or ' I have it from 
 the Duchess herself,' backing himself up with the 
 biggest names and drawing his instances from all 
 quarters. He is a pet of the ladies, whom he posts 
 up in all the intrigues of the Academie and the 
 Foreign Office, the world of letters and the world 
 of fashion. He is very intimate with Danjou, and a 
 constant companion of the Prince d'Athis, with whom 
 he came in. Dalzon and the young critic of 
 Shelley he patronises ; and indeed he exercises a 
 power and authority quite inexplicable to me. 
 
 In the medley of stories which he produced from 
 his inexhaustible chops — most of them were riddles 
 to a simple rustic like myself— one only struck me 
 as amusing. It was the mishap which occurred to 
 a young Count Adriani, of the Papal Guard. He was 
 going through Paris, in attendance upon a reverend 
 personage, to take a cardinal's hat and cap to some 
 one or other, and the story is that he left the insignia 
 at the house of some fair lady whom he met with as 
 he left the train, and of whom he knew neither the 
 name nor the address, being, poor young man ! a 
 stranger in Paris. So he had to write off to the 
 Papal Court for new specimens of the ecclesiastical
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 6 1 
 
 headgear to replace the first, which the lady must 
 find entirely superfluous. The best part of the story 
 is that the little Count Adriani is the Nuncio's own 
 nephew, and that at the Duchess's last party — she is 
 called ' the Duchess ' in Academic circles just as she 
 is at Mousseaux — he told his adventure quite naively 
 in his broken French. Lavaux imitates it wonder- 
 fully. 
 
 In the midst of the laughter and the exclamations, 
 'Charming! Ah, what a man Lavaux is!' etc., I 
 asked Madame Ancelin, who was sitting near me, 
 who Lavaux was, and what he did. The good 
 lady was amazed. ' Lavaux ? You don't know him ? 
 He is the Duchess's zebra.' Thereupon she departed 
 in pursuit of Danjou, and left me much the wiser ! 
 Really Parisian society is a most extraordinary 
 thing ; its vocabulary alters every season. Zebra — 
 a zebra — what can it possibly mean ? But I began 
 to see that I was staying much too long, and that 
 my old master was not going to appear ; it was time 
 I went. I made my way through the chairs to say 
 good-bye to my hostess, and as I passed saw Made- 
 moiselle Moser whimpering before Bretigny's white 
 waistcoat. Poor Moser became a candidate ten years 
 ago, and now has lost all hopes. So he goes nowhere 
 himself, but sends his daughter, a lady of a certain 
 age, not at all pretty, who plays the part of Anti-
 
 62 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 gone, climbs up to the top floors, makes herself gene- 
 ral messenger and drudge to the Academicians and 
 their wives, corrects proofs, nurses the rheumatic, and 
 spends her forlorn maidenhood in running after the 
 Academic chair which her father will never get. 
 Dressed quietly in black, with an unbecoming bonnet, 
 she stood in the doorway ; and near her was Dalzon, 
 very much excited, between two members of the 
 Acaddmie who looked judicial. He was protesting 
 violently and with a choking voice. ' It's not true, 
 it's a shame, I never wrote it ! ' Here was a mys- 
 tery ; and Madame Astier, who might have enligh- 
 tened me, was herself engaged in close confabulation 
 with Lavaux and the Prince d'Athis. You must 
 have seen the Prince d'Athis driving about Mous- 
 seaux with the Duchess. ' Sammy,' as he is called, is 
 a long, thin, bald man, with stooping shoulders, a 
 crinkled face as white as wax, and a black beard 
 reaching half down his chest, as if his hair, falling 
 from his head, had lodged upon his chin. He never 
 speaks, and when he looks at you seems shocked at 
 your daring to breathe the same air as he. He is 
 high in the service, has a close, mysterious, English 
 air which reminds you that he is Lord Palmerston's 
 great-nephew, and is in high repute at the Institute 
 and on the Quai d'Orsay. He is said to be the only 
 French diplomatist whom Bismarck never dared to
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 63 
 
 look in the face. It is supposed that he will very 
 shortly have one of the great Embassies. Then 
 what will become of the Duchess ? To leave Paris 
 and follow him would be a serious thing for a leader 
 of society. And then abroad the world might refuse 
 to accept their equivocal relations, which here are 
 looked upon almost as marriage, in consideration of 
 the propriety of their conduct and their respect for 
 appearances, and considering also the sad state of 
 the Duke, half paralysed and twenty years older than 
 his wife, who is also his niece. 
 
 The Prince was no doubt discussing these grave 
 matters with Lavaux and Madame Astier when I 
 drew near. A man just arrived in any society, no 
 matter where, soon finds how much he is ' out of it.' 
 He understands neither the phrases current nor the 
 thoughts, and is a nuisance. I was just leaving 
 when that kind Madame Astier called me back, say- 
 ing, ' Will you not go up and see him ? He will be so 
 glad.' So I went up a narrow staircase in the wall 
 to see my old master. I heard his loud voice from 
 the end of the passage, ' Is that you, Fage ?' 
 
 1 No, sir,' said L 
 
 ' Why, it's Freydet ! Take care ; keep your head 
 down.' 
 
 It was in fact impossible to stand upright under 
 the sloping roof. What a different place from the
 
 04 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 Foreign Office, where I last saw him, in a lofty gallery 
 lined with portfolios. 
 
 ' A kennel, is it not ? ' said the worthy man with 
 a smile ; ' but if you knew what treasures I have here' 
 — and he waved his hand towards a large set of pigeon- 
 holes containing at least 10,000 important MS. docu- 
 ments, collected by him during the last few years. 
 ' There is history in those drawers,' he went on, 
 growing more animated and playing with his magni- 
 fying glass ; ' history new and authentic, let them say 
 what they will.' But in spite of his words he seemed 
 to me gloomy and uncomfortable. He has been 
 treated very badly. First came that cruel dismissal ; 
 and now, as he has continued to publish historical 
 works based on new documents, people say that he 
 has plundered from the Bourbon papers. This 
 calumny was started in the Institute, and is traced 
 to Baron Huchenard, who calls his collection of MSS. 
 ' the first in France,' and hates to be outdone by that 
 of Astier. He tries to revenge himself by treacherous 
 criticisms, launched, like an assegai, from the bush. 
 ' Even my letters of Charles V.,' said Astier, 'even those 
 they want now to prove false. And on what ground 
 if you please ? For a mere trifling error, " Maitre 
 Rabelais " instead of " Frere Rabelais." As if an 
 emperor's pen never made a slip ! It's dishonest, 
 that's what it is ! ' And, seeing that I shared his 
 indignation, my good old master grasped me by both
 
 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 65 
 
 hands and said, ' But there ! enough of these slanders. 
 Madame Astier told you, I suppose, about your book ? 
 There is still a little too much for my taste ; but I am 
 pleased with it on the whole.' What there is ' too much ' 
 of in my poetry is what he calls ' the weed ' of the 
 fancy. At school he was always at it, plucking it out, 
 and rooting it up. Now, dear Germaine, attend. I give 
 you the last part of our conversation, word for word. 
 
 /. Do you think, sir, that I have any chance of the 
 Boisseau prize ? 
 
 M. A. After such a book as that, my dear boy, it 
 is not a prize you deserve, but a seat. Loisillon is 
 hard hit ; Ripault cannot last much longer. Don't 
 move ; leave it to me ; henceforward I look upon you 
 as a candidate. 
 
 I don't know what I said in reply. I was so con- 
 fused that I feel still as if I were dreaming. Me, me, 
 in the Academie Franchise ! Take good care of your- 
 self, dearest, and get your naughty legs well again ; 
 ^or you must come to Paris on the great occasion, 
 and see your brother, with his sword at his side and 
 his green coat embroidered with palms, take his place 
 among all the greatest men of France ! Why, it 
 makes me dizzy now ! So I send you a kiss, and 
 am off to bed. 
 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 Abel de Freydet. 
 f
 
 66 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 You may imagine that among all these doings I 
 have quite forgotten the seeds, matting, shrubs, and 
 all the rest of my purchases. But I will see about 
 them soon, as I shall stay here some time. Astier- 
 Rehu advised me to say nothing, but to go about in 
 Academic society. To show myself and be seen is 
 the great point.
 
 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 67 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ' DON'T trust them, my dear Freydet. I know that 
 trick ; it's the recruiting trick. The fact is, these 
 people feel that their day is past, and that under 
 their cupola they are beginning to get mouldy. The 
 Academie is a taste that is going out, an ambition no 
 longer in fashion. Its success is only apparent. And 
 indeed for the last few years the distinguished com- 
 pany has given up waiting at home for custom, and 
 comes down into the street to tout. Everywhere, in 
 society, in the studios, at the publishers', in the 
 greenroom, in every literary or artistic centre, you 
 will find the Recruiting-Academician, smiling on 
 young budding talent. " The Academie has its eye 
 on you, my young friend." If a man has got some 
 reputation, and has just written his third or fourth 
 book, like you, then the invitation takes a more direct 
 form. " Don't forget us, my dear fellow ; now's your 
 time." Or perhaps, brusquely, with a friendly scold- 
 ing, " Well, so you don't mean to be one of us. 
 When it's a man in society who is to be caught a
 
 68 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 translator of Ariosto or a writer of amateur plays, 
 there is a gentler and more insinuating way of 
 playing off the trick. And if our fashionable writer 
 protests that he is not a gun of sufficient calibre, 
 the Recruiting-Academician brings out the regular 
 phrase, that " the Academie is a club." Lord bless 
 us, how useful that phrase has been ! " The Aca- 
 demie is a club, and its admission is not only for 
 the work, but the worker." Meantime the Recruiting- 
 Academician is welcomed everywhere, made much of, 
 asked to dinner and other entertainments. He be- 
 comes a parasite, fawned upon by those whose hopes 
 he arouses — and is careful to maintain.' 
 
 But at this point kind-hearted Freydet protested 
 indignantly. Never would his old master lend himself 
 to such base uses. Vedrine shrugged his shoulders : 
 'Why, the worst of the lot is the recruiter who is 
 sincere and disinterested. He believes in the Aca- 
 demie ; his whole life is centred in the Academie ; 
 and when he says to you, " If you only knew the joy 
 of it," with a smack of the tongue like a man eating 
 a ripe peach, he is saying what he really means, and 
 so his bait is the more alluring and dangerous. But 
 when once the hook has been swallowed and struck, 
 then the Academician takes no more notice of the 
 victim, but leaves him to struggle and dangle at the 
 end of the line. You are an angler ; well, when you
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 69 
 
 have taken a fine perch or a big pike, and you drag 
 it along behind your boat, what do you call that ? ' 
 
 ' Drowning your fish.' 
 
 • Just so. Well, look at Moser ! Does he not look 
 like a drowned fish ? He has been carried along in 
 tow for these ten years. And there's De Salele, and 
 Guerineau, and I don't know how many others, who 
 have even given up struggling.' 
 
 ' But still people do get into the Academie sooner 
 or later.' 
 
 ' Not those once taken in tow. And suppose a 
 man does succeed, where's the good ? What does it 
 bring you ? Money ? Not as much as your hay-crop. 
 Fame ? Yes, a hole-and-corner fame within a space 
 no bigger than your hat. It would be something if it 
 gave talent, but those who have talent lose it when 
 once they get inside and are chilled by the air of the 
 place. The Academie is a club, you know ; so there 
 is a tone that must be adopted, and things which 
 must be left unsaid, or watered down. There's an 
 end to originality, an end to bold neck-or-nothing 
 strokes. The liveliest spirits never move for fear 
 of tearing their green coats. It is like putting 
 children into their Sunday clothes and saying 
 " Amuse yourselves, my dears, but don't get dirty. ' 
 And they do amuse themselves, I can tell you. Of 
 course, they have the adulation of the Academical
 
 70 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 taverns, and their fair hostesses. But what a bore it 
 is ! I speak from experience, for I have let myself 
 be dragged there occasionally. I can say wi;h old 
 Rehu, "That's a thing I have seen." Silly preten- 
 tious women have favoured me with ill-digested 
 scraps from magazine articles, coming out of their 
 little beaks like the written remarks of characters in 
 a comic paper. I have heard fat, good-natured 
 Madame Ancelin, a woman as stupid as anything, 
 cackle with admiration at the epigrams of Danjou, 
 regular stage manufacture, about as natural as the 
 curling of his wig.' 
 
 Here was a shock for Freydet : Danjou, the 
 shepherd of Latium, had a wig ! 
 
 ' A half-wig, what they call a breton. At Madame 
 Astier's,' he went on, ' I have gone through lectures 
 on ethnology enough to kill a hippopotamus ; and 
 at the table of the Duchess, the severe and haughty 
 Duchess, I have seen that old monkey Laniboire, 
 seated in the place of honour, do and say things for 
 which, if he had not been a " deity," he would have 
 been turned out of the house, with a good-bye in 
 her Grace's characteristic style. And the joke is, that 
 it was she who got him into the Academic She 
 has seen that very Laniboire at her feet, begging 
 humbly, pitcously, importunately, to get himself 
 elected. " Elect him," she said to my cousin Loisil-
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY 71 
 
 Ion, " elect him, do ; and then I shall be rid of him." 
 And now she looks up to him as a god ; he is always 
 next her at table ; and her contempt has changed into 
 an abject admiration. It is like a savage, falling down 
 and quaking before the idol he has carved. I know 
 what Academic society is, with all its foolish, ludi- 
 crous, mean little intrigues. You want to get into 
 it ! What for, I should like to know ? You have the 
 happiest life in the world. Even I, who am not set 
 upon anything, was near envying you, when I saw 
 you with your sister at Clos-Jallanges : a perfect 
 house on a hill-side, airy rooms, chimney-corners big 
 enough to get into, oakwoods, cornfields, vineyards, 
 river ; the life of a country gentleman, as it is painted 
 in the novels of Tolstoi ; fishing and shooting, a 
 pleasant library, a neighbourhood not too dull, the 
 peasants reasonably honest ; and to prevent you from 
 growing callous in the midst of such unbroken satis- 
 faction, your companion, suffering and smiling, full 
 of life and keenness, poor thing, in her arm-chair, 
 delighted to listen, when you came in from a ride 
 and read her a good sonnet, genuine poetry, fresh 
 from nature, which you had pencilled on your saddle, 
 or lying flat in the grass, as we are now— only with- 
 out this horrible din of waggons and trumpets.' 
 
 V^drine stopped perforce. Some heavy drays, 
 loaded with iron, and shaking ground and houses as
 
 72 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 
 
 they went by, a piercing alarum from the neighbour- 
 ing barracks, the harsh screech ' of a steam-tug's 
 whistle, an organ, and the bells of Sainte-Clotilde, all 
 united at the moment, as from time to time the noises 
 of a great town will do, in a thundering tutti ; and 
 the outrageous babel, close to the ear, contrasted 
 strangely with the natural field of grass and weed, 
 overshadowed by tall trees, in which the two old 
 classmates were enjoying their smoke and their 
 familiar chat. 
 
 It was at the corner of the Quai d'Orsay and the 
 Rue de Bellechasse, on the ruined terrace of the old 
 Cour des Comptes, now occupied by sweet wild 
 plants, like a clearing in the forest at the coming of 
 spring. Clumps of lilac past the flowering and dense 
 thickets of plane and maple grew all along the balus- 
 trades, which were loaded with ivy and clematis : and 
 within this verdant screen the pigeons lighted, the 
 bees wandered, and under a beam of yellow light 
 might be seen the calm and handsome profile of 
 Madame Vddrine, nursing her youngest, while the 
 eldest threw stones at the numerous cats, grey, black, 
 yellow, and tabby, which might be called the tigers 
 of this Parisian jungle. 
 
 ' And as we are talking of your poetry, you will 
 wish me to speak my mind, won't you, old boy ? Well, 
 I have only just looked into your last book, but it has
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY 1 73 
 
 not that smell of bluebells and thyme that I found 
 in the others. Your " God in Nature " has rather a 
 flavour of the Academic bay ; and I am much afraid 
 you have made a sacrifice of your " woodnotes wild," 
 you know, and thrown them, by way of pass-money, 
 into the mouth of Crocodilus.' 
 
 This nickname ' Crocodilus,' turning up at the 
 bottom of Vedrine's schoolboy recollections, amused 
 them for a moment. They pictured once more Astier- 
 Reliu at his desk, with streaming brow, his cap well 
 on the back of his head, and a yard of red ribbon 
 relieved against the black of his gown, emphasising 
 with the solemn movements of his wide sleeves the 
 well-worn joke from Racine or Moliere, or his own 
 rounded periods in the style of Vicq-d'Azir, whose 
 seat in the Academie he eventually filled. Then 
 Freydet, vexed with himself for laughing at his old 
 master, began to praise his work as an historian. 
 What a mass of original documents he had brought 
 out of their dust ! 
 
 ' There's nothing in that,' retorted Vedrine with 
 unqualified contempt. In his view, the most interest- 
 ing documents in hands of a fool had no more 
 meaning than has the great book of humanity itself, 
 when consulted by a stupid novelist. The gold all 
 turns into dead leaves. ' Look here,' he went on with 
 rising animation, ' a man is not to be called an his-
 
 74 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 torian because he has expanded unpublished material 
 into great octavo volumes, which are shelved unread 
 among the books of information, and should be la- 
 belled, w For external application only. Shake the 
 bottle." It is only French frivolity that attaches 
 a serious value to compilations like those. The 
 English and Germans despise us. " Ineptissimus vir 
 Astier-Rehu," says Mommsen somewhere or other in 
 a note.' 
 
 'Yes, and it was you, you heartless fellow, who 
 made the poor man read out the note before the 
 whole class.' 
 
 ' And a terrible jaw he gave me. It was nearly as 
 bad as when one day I got so tired of hearing him 
 tell us that the will was a lever, a lever with which 
 you might lift anything anywhere, that I answered 
 him from my place in his own voice : " Could you fly 
 with it, sir — could you fly with it ? " ' 
 
 Freydet, laughing, abandoned his defence of the 
 historian, and began to plead for Astier-Rehu as a 
 teacher. But V^drine went off again. 
 
 ' A teacher ! What is he ? A poor creature who 
 has spent his life in " weeding " hundreds of brains, 
 or, in plain terms, destroying whatever in them was 
 original and natural, all the living germs which it is 
 the first duty of an educator to nourish and protect. 
 To think how the lot of us were hoed, and stubbed,
 
 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 75 
 
 and grubbed ! One or two did not take kindly to the 
 process, but the old fellow went at it with his tools 
 and his nails, till he made us all as neat and as flat as 
 a schoolroom bench. And see the results of his work- 
 manship ! A few rebels, like Herscher, who, from 
 hatred of the conventional, go for exaggeration and 
 ugliness, or like myself, who, thanks to that old ass, 
 love roughness and contortion so much, that my 
 sculpture, they say, is "like a bag of walnuts." And 
 the rest of them levelled, scraped, and empty ! ' 
 
 ' And pray, what of me ? ' said Freydet, with an 
 affected despair. 
 
 1 Oh, as for you, Nature has preserved you so far ; 
 but look out for yourself if you let Crocodilus clip 
 you again. And to think that we have public schools 
 to provide us with this sort of pedagogue, and that 
 we reward him with endowments, and honours, and 
 a place (save the mark) in the National Institute ! ' 
 
 Stretched at his ease in the long grass, with his 
 head on his arm and waving a fern, which he used as 
 a sun-screen, Vedrine calmly uttered these strong re- 
 marks, without the slightest play of feature in his 
 broad face, pale and puffy like that of an Indian idol. 
 Only the tiny laughing eyes broke the general ex- 
 pression of dreamy indolence. 
 
 His companion was shocked at such treatment of 
 what he was accustomed to respect. ' But,' he said,
 
 76 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 
 
 ' if you are such an enemy of the father, how do you 
 manage to be such a friend of the son ? ' 
 
 ' I am no more one than the other. I look upon 
 Paul Astier, with his imperturbable sang-froid and 
 his pretty-miss complexion, as a problem. I should 
 like to live long enough to see what becomes of him.' 
 
 ' Ah, Monsieur de Freydet,' said Madame Vedrine, 
 joining in the conversation from the place where she 
 sat, ' if you only knew what a tool he makes of my 
 husband ! All the restorations at Mousseaux, the new 
 gallery towards the river, the concert-room, the chapel, 
 all were done by Vedrine. And the Rosen tomb too. 
 He will only be paid for the statue ; but the whole 
 thing is really his — conception, arrangement, every- 
 thing.' 
 
 1 There, there, that will do,' said the artist quietly. 
 ' As for Mousseaux, the young fellow would certainly 
 have been hard put to it to rediscover a fragment of 
 the design under the layers of rubbish that the archi- 
 tects have been depositing there for the last thirty 
 years. But the neighbourhood was charming, the 
 Duchess amiable and not at all tiresome, and there 
 was friend Freydet, whom I had found out at Clos- 
 Jallanges. Besides, the truth is I have too many 
 ideas, and am just tormented with them. To relieve 
 me of a few is to do me a real service. My brain is 
 like a railway junction, where the engines are getting
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 77 
 
 up steam on all the lines at once. The young man 
 saw that. He has not many ideas. So he purloins 
 mine, and brings them before the public, quite certain 
 that I shall not protest. But he does not take me 
 in. Don't I know when he is going to filch ! He 
 preserves his little indifferent air, with no expression 
 in his eyes, until suddenly there comes a little ner- 
 vous twitch at the corner of his mouth. Done ! 
 Nabbed ! I have no doubt he thinks to himself, 
 " Good Lord, what a simpleton Vedrine is !" He has 
 not the least notion that I watch him and enjoy his 
 little game. Now,' said the sculptor as he got up, ' I 
 will show you my Knight, and then we will go over 
 the ruin. It is worth looking at, you will find.' 
 
 Passing from the terrace into the building, they 
 mounted a semicircle of steps and went through a 
 square room, formerly the apartment of the Secretary 
 to the Conseil d'Etat. It had no floor and no ceiling, 
 all the upper storeys had fallen through and showed 
 the blue sky between the huge iron girders, now 
 twisted by the fire, which had divided the floors. In 
 a corner, against a wall to which were attached long 
 iron pipes overgrown with creepers, lay in three 
 pieces a model of the Rosen tomb, buried in nettles 
 and rubbish. 
 
 1 You see,' said Vedrine, ' or rather you can't see.' 
 And he began to describe the monument. The little
 
 78 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 Princess's conception of a tomb was not easy to come 
 up to. Several things had been tried— reminiscences 
 of Egyptian, Assyrian, and Ninevite monuments — 
 before deciding on Vedrine's plan, which would raise 
 an outcry among architects, but was certainly impres- 
 sive. A soldier's tomb : an open tent with the canvas 
 looped back, disclosing within, before an altar, the 
 wide low sarcophagus, modelled on a camp bedstead, 
 on which lay the good Knight Crusader, fallen for 
 King and Creed ; beside him his broken sword, and 
 at his feet a great greyhound. 
 
 The difficulty of the work and the hardness of 
 the Dalmatian granite, which the Princess insisted 
 en having, had obliged Vedrine to take mallet and 
 chisel himself and to work like an artisan under the 
 tarpaulin at the cemetery. Now, at last, after much 
 time and trouble, the canopy was up, ' and that young 
 rascal, Astier, will get some credit from it,' added the 
 sculptor with a smile in which was no touch of bitter- 
 ness. Then he lifted up an old carpet hanging over a 
 hole in the wall, which had once been a door, and led 
 Freydet into the huge ruined hall which served him 
 for a studio, roofed with planks and decorated with 
 mats and hangings. 
 
 It looked with all its litter like a barn, or rather a 
 yard under cover, for in a sun-lit corner climbed a 
 fine fig-tree with its twining branches and elegant
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 79 
 
 leaves, while close by was the bulk of a broken stove, 
 garlanded with ivy and honeysuckle, so as to resemble 
 an old well. Here he had been working for two 
 years, summer and winter, in spite of the fogs of the 
 neighbouring river and the bitter cold winds, without 
 a single sneeze (his own expression), having the 
 healthful strength of the great artists of the Renais- 
 sance, as well as their large mould of countenance 
 and fertile imagination. Now he was as weary of 
 sculpture and architecture as if he had been writing 
 a tragedy. The moment his statue was delivered 
 and paid for, wouldn't he be off, nursery and all, for a 
 journey up the Nile in a dahabeeah, and paint and 
 paint from morning to night ! While he spoke he 
 moved away a stool and a bench, and led his friend 
 up to a huge block in the rough. 'There's my 
 warrior. Frankly now, what do you think of 
 him?' 
 
 Freydet was somewhat startled and amazed at 
 the colossal dimensions of the sleeping hero. The 
 scale was magnified in proportion to the height of 
 the canopy, and the roughness of the plaster exag- 
 gerated the anatomical emphasis characteristic of 
 Ve'drine. Rather than smooth away the force, he 
 gives his work an unfinished earthy surface, as of 
 something still in the rock. But as the spectator 
 gazed and began to grasp, the huge form became
 
 80 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 nstinct with that impressive and attractive power 
 which is the essence of fine art. 
 
 ' Splendid ! ' he exclaimed, with the tone of sin- 
 cerity. The other winked his merry little eyes, and 
 said : 
 
 ' Not at first sight, eh ? My style does not take 
 till you are accustomed to it ; and I do not feel sure 
 of the Princess, when she comes to look at this ugly 
 fellow.' 
 
 Paul Astier was to bring her in a few days, as 
 soon as it had been rubbed down and smoothed 
 and was ready to go to the foundry ; and the 
 sculptor looked forward to the visit with some un- 
 certainty, knowing the taste of great ladies, as it is 
 displayed in the stereotyped chatter, which at the 
 Salon on five-shilling days runs up and down the 
 picture-rooms, and breaks out round the sculpture. 
 Oh, what hypocrisy it is ! The only genuine thing 
 about them is the spring costume, which they have 
 provided to figure on this particular occasion. 
 
 'And altogether, old fellow,' continued V^drine, 
 as he drew his friend out of the studio, 'of all the 
 affectations of Paris, of all the hypocrisies of society, 
 the most shameless, the most amusing, is the pre- 
 tended taste for art. It's enough to make you die 
 of laughing ; everyone performing a mummery, which 
 imposes on nobody. And music, the same ! You 
 should just see them at the Pop ! '
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 8 1 
 
 They went down a long arcaded passage, full 
 of the same odd vegetation, sown there by all the 
 winds of heaven, breaking out in green from the 
 hard-beaten ground, and peeping among the paint- 
 ings on the shrivelled and smoke-blackened walls. 
 Presently they came to the principal court, formerly 
 gravelled, but now a field, in which were mingled 
 wild grasses, plantain, pimpernel, groundsel, and 
 myriads of tiny stems and heads. In the middle, 
 fenced off with boards, was a bed of artichokes, straw- 
 berries, and pumpkins, looking like the garden of 
 some squatter at the edge of a virgin forest ; and, 
 to complete the illusion, beside it was a little building 
 of brick. 
 
 'It's the bookbinder's garden, and that is his 
 shop,' said Vddrine, pointing to a board over the 
 half-open door, displaying in letters a foot long the 
 inscription, 
 
 ALB IN FAGE, 
 
 Bookbinding in all its branches. 
 
 Fage had been bookbinder to the Cour des 
 Comptes and the Conseil d'Etat, and having ob- 
 tained leave to keep his lodge, which had escaped 
 the fire, was now, with the exception of the caretaker, 
 the sole tenant of the building. ' Let us go in for a 
 minute,' said Vedrine ; ' you will find him a remark 
 
 G
 
 82 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 able specimen.' He went nearer and called, ' Fage ! 
 Fage ! ' but the humble workshop was empty. In 
 front of the window was the binder's table, on which, 
 among a heap of parings, lay his shears. Under 
 a press were some green ledgers capped with copper. 
 Strange to remark, everything in the room — the 
 sewing-press, the tressel-table, the empty chair in 
 front of it, the shelves piled with books, and even 
 the shaving-mirror hung upon the latch — was on a 
 diminutive scale, adapted to the height and reach of 
 a child of twelve years old. It might have been 
 taken for the house of a dwarf, or of a bookbinder of 
 Lilliput. 
 
 1 He is a humpback,' whispered Vedrine to Frey- 
 det, ' and a lady's man into the bargain, all scent and 
 pomade.' A horrible smell like a hairdresser's shop, 
 otto of roses and macassar, mingled with the stifling 
 fumes of glue. Vedrine called once more in the 
 direction of the back of the shop where the bed- 
 room was ; then they left, Freydet chuckling at the 
 idea of a humpbacked Lovelace. 
 
 1 Perhaps he's at a tryst,' he said. 
 
 ' You are pleased to laugh ; but, my dear fellow, 
 the humpback is on the best of terms with all the 
 beauties of Paris, if one may believe the testimony 
 of his bedroom walls, which are covered with photo- 
 graphs bearing the owners' names, and headed " To
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 83 
 
 Albin," "To my dear little Fage." There is never 
 any lady to be seen here, but he sometimes comes 
 and tells me about his fine octavo, or his pretty 
 little duodecimo, as he calls his conquests, according 
 to their height and size.' 
 
 ' And he is ugly, you say ? ' 
 
 ' A perfect monster.' 
 
 ' And no money ? ' 
 
 'A poor little bookbinder and worker in card- 
 board, living on his work and his bit of a garden, 
 but very intelligent and learned, with a marvellous 
 memory. We shall probably find him wandering 
 about in some corner of the building. He is a great 
 dreamer is little Fage, like all sentimentalists. — 
 This way, but look where you step ; there are some 
 awkward places.' 
 
 They were going up a huge staircase, of which 
 the lower steps still remained, as did the balustrade, 
 rusty, split, and in places twisted. Then suddenly 
 they turned off by a fragile wooden bridge, resting 
 on the supports of the staircase, between high walls 
 on which were dimly visible the remains of huge 
 frescoes, cracked, decayed, and blackened with soot, 
 the hind legs of a horse, a woman's torso undraped, 
 with inscriptions almost illegible on panels that 
 had lost their gilding, ' Meditation,' ' Silence,' ' Trade 
 uniting the nations of the world.' 
 
 82
 
 84 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 On the first floor a long gallery with a vaulted 
 roof, as in the amphitheatre at Aries or Nimes, 
 stretched away between smoke-stained walls, covered 
 with huge fissures, remains of plaster and iron work, 
 and tangled vegetation. At the entrance to this 
 passage was inscribed on the wall, ' Corridor des 
 Huissiers.' On the next floor they found much the 
 same thing, only that here, the roof having given 
 way, the gallery was nothing but a long terrace of 
 brambles climbing up to the undestroyed arcades 
 and falling down in disordered waving festoons to 
 the level of the courtyard. From this second floor 
 could be seen the roofs of the neighbouring houses, 
 the whitewashed walls of the barracks in the Rue 
 de Poitiers, and the tall plane trees of the Padovani 
 mansion, with the rooks' nests, abandoned till the 
 winter, swinging in their top branches. Below was 
 the deserted court in full sunlight, with the little 
 garden and tiny house of the bookbinder. 
 
 * Just look, old boy, there's a good lot of it here,' 
 said Vedrine to his friend, pointing to the wild 
 exuberant vegetation of every species which ran riot 
 over the whole building. ' If Crocodilus saw all these 
 weeds, what a rage he would be in ! ' Suddenly he 
 started, and said, 'Well, I never !' 
 
 At this moment, near the bookbinder's house 
 below, came into sight Astier-Rehu, recognisable by
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 85 
 
 his long frock-coat of a metallic green and his large 
 wide ' topper.' Most people in the neighbourhood 
 knew this hat, which, set on the back of a grey curly 
 head, distinguished, like a halo, the hierarch of eru- 
 dition. It was Crocodilus himself! 
 
 He was talking earnestly to a man of very small 
 stature, whose bare head shone with hair-oil, and 
 whose tight-fitting, light-coloured coat showed in all 
 its elegance the deformity of his baclc Their words 
 were not audible, but Astier seemed much excited. 
 He brandished his stick and bent himself forward 
 over the face of the little creature, who for his part 
 was perfectly calm, and stood, as if his mind was 
 made up, with his two large hands behind him folded 
 under his hump. 
 
 ' The cripple does work for the Institute, does 
 he?' said Freydet, who remembered now that his 
 master had uttered the name of Fage. Vedrine did 
 not answer. He was watching the action of the two 
 men, whose conversation at this moment suddenly 
 stopped, the humpback going into his house with a 
 gesture which seemed to say, ' As you please,' while 
 Astier with angry strides made for the gate of the 
 building towards the Rue de Lille, then paused, 
 turned back to the shop, went in, and closed the door 
 behind him. 
 
 * It's odd,' muttered the sculptor.   Why did Fage
 
 S6 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 never tell me? What a mysterious little fellow it 
 is ! But I dare say they have the same taste for the 
 " octavo " and the " duodecimo " ! ' 
 
 ' For shame, Vtjdrine ! ' 
 
 The visit done, Freydet went slowly up the Quai 
 d'Orsay, thinking about his book and his aspirations 
 towards the Academie, which had received a severe 
 shock from the home truths he had been hearing. 
 How like the man is to the boy! How soon the 
 character is in its essence complete ! After an interval 
 of twenty-five years, beneath the wrinkles and grey 
 hairs and other changes, with which life disguises the 
 outer man, the schoolfellows found each other just 
 what they were when they sat together in class : one 
 wilful, high-spirited, rebellious ; the other obedient and 
 submissive, with a tendency to indolence, which had 
 been fostered by his quiet country life. After all 
 V^drine was perhaps right. Even if he was sure of 
 succeeding, was the thing worth the trouble ? He was 
 particularly anxious about his invalid sister, who, 
 while he went about canvassing, must be left all alone 
 at Clos-Jallanges. A few days' absence had already 
 made her feel nervous and low, and the morning's 
 post had brought a miserable letter. 
 
 He was by this time passing before the dragoon 
 barracks ; and his attention was caught by the ap- 
 pearance of the paupers, waiting on the other side of
 
 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' &7 
 
 the street for the distribution of the remains of the 
 soup. They had come long before for fear of missing 
 their turn, and were seated on the benches or standing 
 in a line against the parapet of the quay. Foul and 
 grimy, with the hair and beard of human dogs, and 
 dressed in the filthiest rags, they waited like a herd, 
 neither moving nor speaking to each other, but peering 
 into the great barrack -yard to catch the arrival of the 
 porringers and the adjutant's signal to come up. It 
 was horrible to see in the brilliant sunlight the silent 
 row of savage eyes and hungry faces, fixed with the 
 same animal look upon the wide-open gate. 
 
 ' What are you doing there, my dear boy ? ' said 
 a voice, and Astier-Rehu, in high spirits, took his 
 pupil's arm. The poet pointed to the pathetic group 
 on the opposite pavement. ' Ah, yes,' said the his- 
 torian, ' Ah, yes.' He had in truth no eyes for any- 
 thing outside books, nor any direct and personal per- 
 ception of the facts of life. Indeed, from the way in 
 which he took Freydet off, saying as he did so, ' You 
 may as well go with me as far as the Institute,' it was 
 clear that he did not approve the habit of mooning 
 in the streets when you ought to be better employed. 
 Leaning gently on his favourite's arm, he began to tell 
 him of his rapturous delight at having chanced upon 
 a most astonishing discovery, a letter about the Aca- 
 demie from the Empress Catherine to Diderot, just
 
 88 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 in time for his forthcoming address to the Grand- 
 Duke. He meant to read the letter at the meeting 
 and perhaps to present his Highness, in the name of 
 the Society, with the original in the handwriting of 
 his ancestress. Baron Huchenard would burst with 
 envy. 
 
 1 And, by the way, about my Charles the Fifths, 
 you know ! It's absolutely false. Here is something 
 to confute the old backbiter,' and he clapped with his 
 thick short hand a heavy leather pocket-book. He 
 was so happy that he tried to arouse an answering 
 happiness in Freydet by leading the conversation to 
 the topic of yesterday — his candidature for the first 
 place in the Acade'mie that should be vacant. It 
 would be delightful when the master and the scholar 
 sat together under the dome ! ' And you will find 
 how pleasant it is, and how comfortable. It cannot 
 be imagined till you are there.' The moment of 
 entrance, he seemed to say, put an end to the miseries 
 of life. At that threshold they might beat in vain. 
 You soared into a region of peace and light, above 
 envy, above criticism, blessed for ever ! All was won, 
 and nothing left to desire. Ah, the Academie! 
 Those who spoke ill of it spoke in ignorance, or in 
 jealousy, because they could not get in. The apes, 
 the dunces ! 
 
 His strong voice rose till it made everyone turn
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 89 
 
 as he went along the quay. Some recognised him 
 and mentioned his name. The booksellers and the 
 vendors of engravings and curiosities, standing at 
 their stalls, and accustomed to see him go by at his 
 regular hours, stepped back and bowed respectfully. 
 
 ' Freydet, look at that,' said his master, pointing 
 to the Palais Mazarin, to which they had now come. 
 ' There it is ! There's the Institute as I saw it on the 
 Didot books when I was a lad. I said to myself 
 then, " I will get into that ; " and I have got in. 
 Now, my boy, it is your turn to use your will. 
 Good luck to you.' He stepped briskly in at the 
 gate to the left of the main building, and went on 
 into a series of large paved courts, silent and majestic, 
 his figure throwing a lengthening shadow upon the 
 ground. 
 
 He disappeared ; but Freydet was gazing still, 
 struck motionless. And on his kindly round brown 
 face and in his soft, full-orbed eyes was the same 
 expression as had been on the visages of the human 
 dogs who waited before the barracks for their soup. 
 Henceforward, whenever he looked at the Institute, 
 that expression would always come over his face.
 
 90 ONE OF THE 'FORTY 1 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 It was the evening of a great dinner, to be followed 
 by a select reception, at the Padovani mansion. The 
 Grand-Duke Leopold was entertaining at the table 
 of his ' respected friend,' as he called the Duchess, 
 some members selected from the various departments 
 of the Institute, and so making his return to the five 
 Academies for their courteous reception of him and for 
 the complimentary harangue of the President. Diplo- 
 matic society was, as usual, well represented at the 
 house of a lady whose husband had been Ambassador ; 
 but the Institute had the chief place, and the arrange- 
 ment of the guests showed the object of the dinner. The 
 Grand-Duke, seated opposite the hostess, had Madame 
 Astier on his right, and on his left the Countess Foder, 
 wife of the First Secretary of the Finnish Embassy, 
 acting as Ambassador. On the right of the Duchess 
 sat Leonard Astier, and on her left Monsignor Adriani, 
 the Papal Nuncio. Then came successively Baron 
 Huchenard, representing the Inscriptions et Belles- 
 Lettres ; Mourad Bey, the Ambassador of the Porte ; 
 Delpech the chemist, Member of the Academie des
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 91 
 
 Sciences ; the Belgian Minister; Landry the musician, 
 of the Beaux- Arts ; Danjou the dramatist, one of 
 Picheral's ' Players ' ; and, lastly, the Prince d'Athis, 
 whose twofold claims to distinction as diplomatist 
 and Member of the Academie dcs Sciences Morales 
 et Politiques combined the characteristics of the two 
 sets in the circle. At the ends of the table were the 
 General acting as Aide-de-camp to His Highness, 
 the young Count Adriani, nephew of the Nuncio, 
 and Lavaux, whose presence was indispensable at 
 every social gathering. 
 
 The feminine element was lacking in charm. The 
 Countess Foder, red-haired, small, and lively, en- 
 veloped in lace to the tip of her little pointed nose, 
 looked like a squirrel with a cold in its head. Baroness 
 Huchenard, a lady of no particular age and with a 
 moustache, produced the effect of a very fat old 
 gentleman in a low dress. Madame Astier, in a velvet 
 dress partly open at the neck, a present from the 
 Duchess, had sacrificed on the altar of friendship 
 the pleasure she would have had in displaying her 
 arms and shoulders, the remains of her beauty ; and 
 thanks to this delicate attention the Duchess Pado- 
 vani looked as if she were the only woman at dinner. 
 The Duchess is elegantly dressed, tall and fair, with a 
 tiny head and fine eyes of a golden hazel colour —   
 eyes whose shifting haughty glance, from under long
 
 92 ©NE OF THE ' FORTY ' 
 
 dark brows almost meeting, shows their power of 
 expressing kindness, affection, or anger. Her nose is 
 short, her mouth emotional and sensitive, and her 
 complexion has the brilliancy of a young woman's, 
 owing to her custom of sleeping in the afternoon 
 when she is going out in the evening or receiving 
 friends at her own house. A long residence abroad 
 at Vienna, St. Petersburg, and Constantinople, where 
 as the wife of the French Ambassador it had been 
 her duty to set the fashion to French society, has left 
 in her manners a certain air of superior information, 
 which the ladies of Paris find it hard to forgive. 
 She talks graciously to them as though they were 
 foreigners, and explains things to them which they 
 understand as well as she. In her house in the Rue 
 de Poitiers the Duchess still acts as though repre- 
 senting Paris among the Kurds. It is the sole defect 
 of this noble and splendid lady. 
 
 Though there were, so to speak, no women, no 
 bright dresses showing arms and shoulders and break- 
 ing the monotony of black coats with a blaze o 
 jewels and flowers, still the table was not without 
 colour. There was the violet cassock of the Nuncio 
 with his broad silk sash, the purple cJicchia of Mourad 
 Bey, and the red tunic of the Papal Guard with its gold 
 collar, blue embroideries, and gold braid on the breast, 
 decorated also with the huge brilliant cross of the
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 93 
 
 Legion of Honour, which the young Italian had re- 
 ceived that very morning, the President thinking it 
 proper to reward the successful delivery of the Cardi- 
 nal's hat. Scattered about, too, were ribbons green> 
 blue, and red, and the silvery gleam and sparkling 
 stars of decorations and orders. 
 
 Ten o'clock. The dinner is almost over, but not 
 one of the flowers elaborately arranged round plates 
 and dishes has been disturbed, there have been no 
 raised voices or animated gestures. Yet the fare is 
 excellent at the Padovani mansion, one of the few 
 houses in Paris where they still have wine. The 
 dinner betrays the presence in the house of an epicure, 
 and the epicure is not the Duchess, who, like all 
 leaders of French fashion, thinks the dinner good if 
 she has on a becoming dress and the table is carefully 
 and tastefully decorated. No ; the epicure is the 
 lady's humble servant, the Prince d'Athis, a man of 
 cultivated palate and fastidious appetite, spoilt by club 
 cooking and not to be satisfied by silver plate or the 
 sight of fine liveries and irreproachable white calves. 
 It is for his sake that the fair Antonia admits among 
 her occupations the care of the menu, it is for him 
 that she provides highly seasoned dishes and fiery 
 wines of Burgundy, which it must be admitted have 
 not on this particular occasion dispelled the coldness 
 of the guests.
 
 94 ONE OF THE « FORTY ' 
 
 At dessert there is the same deadness, stiffness, and 
 restraint that marked the first course ; hardly has a 
 tinge of colour touched the ladies' cheeks or noses. 
 It is a dinner of wax dolls, official, magnificent, with 
 the magnificence which comes chiefly of ample room, 
 lofty ceilings, and seats placed so far apart as to 
 preclude all friendly touching of chairs. A gloomy 
 chilly underground feeling separates the guests, in 
 spite of the soft breath of the June night floating in 
 from the gardens through the half-open shutters and 
 gently swelling the silk blinds. The conversation is 
 distant and constrained, the lips scarcely move and 
 have an unmeaning smile. Not a remark is real, not 
 one makes its way to the mind of the hearer ; they 
 are as perfectly artificial as the sweetmeats among 
 which they are dropped. The speeches, like the faces, 
 are masked, and it is lucky they are, for if at this 
 moment the mask were to be taken off, and the true 
 thoughts disclosed, how dismayed the noble company 
 would be ! 
 
 The Grand -Duke, who has a broad pale face 
 framed by extra-black trim round whiskers, just such 
 a royal personage as you see in an illustrated paper, 
 is questioning Baron Huchenard with much interest 
 about his recent book, and thinking to himself: 'Oh 
 dear, how this learned gentleman does bore me with 
 his primitive dwellings ! How much better off I
 
 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 95 
 
 should be at Roxelane, where sweet little Dda is danc- 
 ing in the ballet ! The author of Roxelane is here, I 
 understand, but he is a middle-aged man, very ugly 
 and very dull. And to think of the ankles of little 
 Dea!' 
 
 The Nuncio, who has an intellectual face of the 
 Roman type, large nose, thin lips, black eyes and 
 sallow complexion, has leant on one side to listen to 
 the history of the habitations of Man. He is looking 
 at his nails, which shine like shells, and is thinking : 
 ' At the Embassy this morning I ate a delicious 
 misto fritto, and I haven't got rid of it. Gioachimo 
 has pulled my sash too tight ; I wish I could get 
 away from the table.' 
 
 The Turkish Ambassador, thick-lipped, yellow, 
 and coarse, with his fez over his eyes and a poke in 
 his neck, is filling the glass of Baroness Huchenard 
 and saying, ' How disgusting in these Westerns to 
 bring their women into society, when they are as 
 dilapidated as this ! I had rather be impaled right 
 off than exhibit that fat creature as my wife.' The 
 Baroness is thanking His Excellency with a mincing 
 smile, which covers the thought 'This Turk is a 
 revolting beast.' 
 
 Nor are Madame Astier's spoken thoughts any 
 more in harmony with her internal reflections : ' I 
 only hope Paul will not have forgotten to go for
 
 96 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 grandpapa. It will be an effective scene when the 
 old man comes in, supported on the arm of his great- 
 grandson. Perhaps we may get an order out of His 
 Highness.' Then, as she looks affectionately at the 
 Duchess, she thinks : ' She is looking very handsome 
 this evening. Some good news no doubt about the 
 promised Embassy. Make the best of your time, my 
 dear ; in a month Sammy will be married.' 
 
 Madame Astier is not mistaken. The Grand- 
 Duke on arriving announced to his ' respected friend ' 
 the President's promise to appoint D'Athis within the 
 next few days. The Duchess is filled with a repressed 
 delight, which shines through as it were, and gives 
 her a marvellous brilliance. To this height she has 
 raised the man of her choice ! And already she is 
 making plans for removing her own establishment to 
 St. Petersburg, to a mansion not too far from the 
 Embassy ; while the Prince, with his pale sunk cheeks 
 and rapt look — the look whose penetration Bismarck 
 could never sustain — checks upon his contemptuous 
 lips the smile at once mysterious and dogmatic, com- 
 pounded of diplomacy and learning, and thinks to 
 himself: ' Now Colette must make up her mind. She 
 could come out there, we could be married quietly 
 at the Chapelle des Pages, and all would be done and 
 past recall before the Duchess heard of it.' 
 
 And thus many a reflection ludicrously inappro-
 
 ONE OF THE « FORTY r 97 
 
 priate to the occasion passes from guest to guest 
 under the same safe wrapper. Here you have the 
 pleased beatitude of Leonard Astier, who has this 
 very morning received the order of Stanislas (second 
 class), as a return for presenting to His Highness a 
 copy of his speech with the autograph letter of 
 Catherine pinned to the first page and very ingeni- 
 ously worked into the complimentary address. This 
 letter was the great thing at the meeting, had been 
 mentioned in the papers two days running, and heard 
 of all over Europe, giving to the name of Astier, to 
 his collection, and to his work, that astounding and 
 disproportionate echo with which the Press now mul- 
 tiplies any passing event. Now Baron Huchenard 
 might do his best to bite, might mumble as he pleased 
 in his insinuating tones, ' I ask you, my dear colleague, 
 to observe.' But no one would listen. And the ' first 
 collector in France ' was perfectly aware of it. See 
 what a savage look he casts at his dear colleague in 
 the pauses of his scientific harangue ! What venom 
 is in every deeply graven hollow of his porous, pumice- 
 stone face ! 
 
 Handsome Danjou is also furious, but for other 
 reasons than the Baron. The Duchess has not asked 
 his wife. The exclusion is painful to his feelings as 
 a husband, a part of a man no less sensitive than 
 the original ego ; and in spite of his wish to shine 
 
 II
 
 98 ONE OF THE * FORTY ' 
 
 before the Grand-Duke, the witticisms as good as 
 new, which he was prepared with, will not go off. 
 Another who does not feel comfortable is Delpech 
 the chemist, whom His Highness, when he was pre- 
 sented, congratulated on his interpretation of the 
 cuneiform character, confounding him with his col- 
 league of the Academie des Inscriptions. It should 
 be said that, with the exception of Danjou, whose 
 comedies are popular abroad, the Grand-Duke has 
 never heard of any of the Academic celebrities intro- 
 duced to him at this dinner. Lavaux this very 
 morning, in concert with the Aide-de-camp, arranged 
 a set of cards bearing each the name of a guest with 
 the titles of his principal works. The fact that His 
 Highness did not get more confused among the list 
 than he did proves much presence of mind and an 
 Imperial memory. But the evening is not over, and 
 other stars of learning are about to appear. Already 
 may be heard the muffled rolling of wheels and the 
 slamming of carriages putting down at the door. 
 The Prince will have more chances yet. 
 
 Meanwhile, in a weak, slow voice, seeking for 
 words and losing half of them in his nose, His High- 
 ness is discussing with Astier Rehu a point of history 
 suggested by the letter of Catherine II. The ewers 
 have long completed the round, no one is eating or 
 drinking any more, no one is even breathing, for fear
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 99 
 
 of interrupting the conversation ; all the company- 
 are in a hypnotic trance, and — a remarkable effect 
 of levitation — are literally hanging upon the Im- 
 perial lips. Suddenly the august nose is silent, and 
 Leonard Astier, who has made a show of resistance 
 in order to improve the effect of his opponent's 
 victory, throws up his arms like broken foils and says 
 with an air of surrender, * Ah, Your Highness has 
 mated me ! ' The charm is broken, the company 
 feel the ground under them again, everyone rises in 
 a slight flutter of applause, the doors are thrown 
 open, the Duchess takes the arm of the Grand- 
 Duke, Mourad Bey that of the Baroness, and while, 
 with a sound of sweeping dresses and chairs pushed 
 Lack, the assembly files out, Firmin, the maitre 
 dhotel, solemn and dignified, is privately doing a 
 sum. ' In any other house this dinner would have 
 been worth to me forty pounds : with her, I'll 
 warrant, it won't be a dozen ; ' to which he adds 
 aloud, as if he would spit his anger upon Her Grace's 
 train, ' Grr ! you hag ! ' 
 
 'With Your Highness's permission— my grand- 
 father, M. Jean Rehu, the oldest member in the whole 
 Institute.' 
 
 The high notes of Madame Astier's voice ring in 
 the great drawing-room, not nearly filled, though the 
 guests invited to the reception have already arrived. 
 
 H 2
 
 IOO ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 She speaks very loud to make grandpapa understand 
 to whom he is being introduced and answer accor- 
 dingly. Old Rehu looks grand, drawing up his tall 
 figure and still carrying high his little Creole face 
 darkened and cracked with age. Paul, graceful and 
 pleasing, supports him on one side, his grand- 
 daughter on the other ; Astier-Rehu is behind. The 
 family makes a sentimental group in the style of 
 Greuze. It would look well on one of the pale- 
 coloured tapestries with which the room is decorated, 
 tapestries — a strange thing to think of— scarcely 
 older than Rehu himself. The Grand-Duke, much 
 affected, tries to say something happy, but the author 
 of the Letters to Urania is not upon his cards. He 
 gets out of it by a few vague complimentary phrases, 
 in answer to which old Rehu, supposing that he is 
 being asked as usual about his age, says, ' Ninety- 
 eight years in a fortnight, Sir.' His next attempt 
 does not fit much better with His Highness's gra- 
 cious congratulations. 'Not since 1803, Sir; the 
 town must be much changed.' During the progress 
 of this singular dialogue, Paul is whispering to his 
 mother, ' You may see him home if you like ; I won't 
 have anything more to do with him ; he's in an awful 
 temper. In the carriage he was kicking me all the 
 time in the legs, to work off his fidgets, he said.' 
 The young man himself had an unpleasant ring in
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' IOI 
 
 his voice this evening, and in his charming face 
 something set and hard, which his mother knew 
 well, and noticed immediately on coming into the 
 room. What is the matter? She watched him, 
 trying to read the meaning in his light eyes, which, 
 however, harder and keener than usual, revealed 
 nothing. 
 
 But the chill, the ceremonious chill, prevailed here 
 no less than at the dinner-table. The guests kept 
 apart in groups, the few ladies in a circle upon low 
 chairs, the gentlemen standing or walking about with 
 a pretence of serious conversation, but obviously 
 engaged in attracting His Highness's attention. It 
 was for His Highness that Landry the musician 
 stood pensive by the chimney-piece, gazing upward 
 with his inspired brow and his apostolic beard ; for 
 him that on the other side Delpech the chemist 
 stood meditative with his chin upon his hand, 
 poring intently with gathered brows as if watching 
 the precipitation of a compound. 
 
 Laniboire the philosopher, famous for his likeness 
 to Pascal, was wandering round, perpetually passing 
 before the sofa, where, unable to escape from Jean 
 Rehu, sat the Prince. The hostess had forgotten 
 to present him, and his fine nose looked longer than 
 usual and seemed to be making a desperate appeal : 
 • Cannot you see that this is the nose of Pascal ?
 
 102 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 At the same sofa Madame Eviza was shooting be- 
 tween her scarcely parted eyelids a look which asked 
 His Highness to name his own price if he would but 
 be seen at her reception next Monday. Ah ! change 
 the scene as you will, it is always the same perform- 
 ance—pretension, meanness, readiness to bow down, 
 the courtier's appetite for self-humiliation and self- 
 abasement. We need not decline the visits of 
 majesty; we are provided with all the properties 
 required for the occasion. 
 ' General.' 
 
 I Your Highness.' 
 
 I I shall never be in time for the ballet.' 
 ' But why are we staying, Sir ? ' 
 
 1 1 don't know ; there's to be a surprise when the 
 Nuncio is gone.' 
 
 While these few words passed in an undertone 
 between the pair, they neither looked at each other 
 nor changed a muscle of their ceremonial counte- 
 nances. The Aide-de-camp had copied from his 
 master the nasal intonation, the absence of gesture, 
 the fixed attitude on the edge of the seat with 
 the bowed arm against the side. He was rigid as 
 on parade or in the Imperial box at the Theatre 
 Michel. Old Re^hu stood before them, he would 
 not sit down ; he was still talking, still exhibiting 
 the dusty stores of his memory, the people he bad
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' IO3 
 
 known, the many fashions in which he had dressed. 
 The more distant the time, the clearer his recollec- 
 tion. ' That is a thing I have seen,' says he, as he 
 pauses at the end of a story, with his eyes fixed, as 
 it were, upon the flying past, and then off upon a 
 fresh subject. He had been with Talma at Brunoy, 
 he had been in the drawing-room of Josephine, full 
 of musical boxes and artificial humming-birds covered 
 with jewels, which sang and clapped their wings. 
 
 Out of doors on the terrace, in the warm dark- 
 ness of the garden, was heard low conversation 
 and stifled laughter, coming from the place where 
 the cigars were visible as a ring of red dots. Lavaux 
 was amusing himself by getting the young Guards- 
 man to tell Danjou and Paul Astier the story of the 
 Cardinal's hat. ' And the lady, Count — the lady at 
 the station.' ' Cristo, qu'elle etait bella ! ' said the 
 Italian in a low voice, and added correctively, ' sim- 
 patica, surtout, simpatica.' Charming and respon- 
 sive — this was his general idea of the ladies of Paris. 
 He only wished he need not go back. The French 
 wine had loosed his tongue, and he began describing 
 his life in the Guards, the advantages of the profes- 
 sion, the hope which they all had on entering it that 
 they might find a rich wife — that at one of His 
 Holiness's audiences they would dazzle some wealthy 
 English Catholic or a fanatical Spaniard from South
 
 104 ONE 0F THE 'FORTY* 
 
 America come to bring her offering to the Vatican. 
 ' L'ouniforme est zouli, compre'nez ; et pouis les en- 
 fortounes del Saint Pere, cela nous donne a nous 
 autres ses soldats oun prestigio roumanesque, cava- 
 leresque, qualque sose qui plait aux dames zenerale- 
 mente.' It must be allowed that with his youthful 
 manly face, his gold braid shining softly in the moon- 
 light, and his white leather breeches, he did recall 
 the heroes of Ariosto or Tasso. 
 
 ' Well, my dear Pepino,' said fat Lavaux, in his 
 mocking and disagreeable tone, ' if you want a good 
 match, here it is at your elbow.' 
 
 ' How so ? Where ? ' 
 
 Paul Astier started and became attentive. The 
 mention of a good match always made him fear that 
 some one was stealing his. 
 
 ' The Duchess, of course. Old Padovani can't 
 stand another stroke.' 
 
 ' But the Prince d'Athis ? ' 
 
 ' He'll never marry her.' 
 
 Lavaux was a good authority, being the friend of 
 the Prince, and of the Duchess, too, for that matter ; 
 though, seeing that the establishment must shortly 
 split, he stood on the side which he thought the 
 safest. ' Go in boldly, my dear Count ; there's 
 money, lots of it, and a fine connection, and a lady 
 still well enough/
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' I05 
 
 1 Cristo, qu'elle est bella ! ' said the Italian, with a 
 sigh. 
 
 'E simpatica,' said Danjou, with a sneer. At 
 which the Guardsman after a moment's amazement, 
 delighted to find an Academician with so much per- 
 ception, exclaimed : ' SI, simpatica, precisamente ! ' 
 
 ' And then,' continued Lavaux, 'if you are fond of 
 dyes, and enamel, and padding, you'll get it. I 
 believe she's a marvel of construction, the best cus- 
 tomer that Charriere has.' 
 
 He spoke out loud and quite freely, right in front 
 of the dining-room. The garden door was slightly 
 open, and through the crack the light fell upon the 
 broad red impudent face of the parasite, and the 
 warm air floated laden with the rich smell of the 
 dinner which he had eaten and was repaying in mean 
 dirty slanders. There's for your truffes farcies ; 
 there's for your gelinottes, and your ' didteaux' at 
 fifteen shillings a glass ! Danjou and he have got 
 together on purpose to play this popular game of 
 running-down ; and a great deal they know and a 
 great deal they tell. Lavaux serves the ball and 
 Danjou returns. And the simple Guardsman, not 
 knowing how much to believe, tries to laugh, with a 
 horrid fear lest the Duchess should catch them, and 
 is much relieved when he hears his uncle calling him 
 from the other end of the terrace. The Papal Em-
 
 106 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 
 
 bassy shuts up early, and since his little misfortune 
 he has been kept strictly to hours. 
 
 ' Good night, gentlemen.' 
 
 • Good luck to you, young man.' 
 
 The Nuncio is gone ; now for the surprise. At 
 a signal from the Duchess, the author of Roxelane 
 took his place at the piano and swept his beard over 
 the keys as he struck two penetrating chords. Im- 
 mediately at the far end of the rooms the curtains 
 were drawn from the door, and down the vista of 
 brilliant apartments, tripping along on the tips of her 
 little gilt slippers, came a charming brunette in the 
 close bodice and puffed skirts of the ballet, conducted 
 at arm's-length by a gloomy person with hair in rolls 
 and a cadaverous countenance divided by a dead 
 black moustache. It is Dea ! Dea, the folly of the 
 hour, the fashionable toy, accompanied by her in- 
 structor, Valere, the ballet-master at the opera. 
 Roxelane was taken first this evening ; and the girl, 
 warm from her triumphant performance, had come to 
 give her dance again for the benefit of the Duchess's 
 Imperial guest. A more delightful surprise his re- 
 spected friend could not have devised. What more 
 exquisite than to have all to yourself, close to your- 
 self, and within an inch of your face, the pretty whirl 
 of muslin and the panting of the fresh young breath, 
 and to hear the sinews of the little creature strain
 
 ONE OF THE « FORTY ' 107 
 
 like the sheets of a sail ! His Highness was not 
 alone in this opinion. The moment the dance began 
 the men drew together, selfishly making a close ring 
 of black coats and leaving the few ladies present to 
 see what they could from outside. Even the Grand- 
 Duke is hustled and shoved in the press : for as the 
 dance quickens the circle narrows, till there is scarcely 
 room for the movement. Men of letters and of poli- 
 tics, breathing hard, thrust their heads forward, while 
 their decorations swing like cow-bells, and grinning 
 from ear to ear show their watery lips and toothless 
 jaws with grotesque animal cachinnations. Even the 
 Prince d'Athis stoops with less contempt for hu- 
 manity, as he gazes upon this marvel of youth and 
 fairy grace, who with the tips of her toes takes off the 
 masks of convention ; and the Turk, Mourad Bey, 
 who has sat the whole evening without a word in the 
 depths of an armchair, is now gesticulating in the 
 front row with open nostrils and staring eyes. In the 
 midst of the wild shouts of applause the girl springs 
 and leaps with so harmonious a concealment of the 
 muscular working of her frame, that her dance might 
 seem as easy as the hovering of a dragon-fly, but for 
 the few drops on her firm rounded neck and the 
 smile, forced, tense, and almost painful, at the corner 
 of her mouth, which betray the exhausting effort of 
 the exquisite little creature.
 
 108 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 Paul Astier, who did not care for dancing, had 
 stayed on the terrace to smoke. The applause and 
 the thin sounds of the piano, audible in the distance, 
 made an accompaniment to his reflections, which took 
 shape little by little, even as his outward eyes, growing 
 accustomed to the dark, made out by degrees in the 
 garden the trunks of the trees and their quivering 
 leaves, and far away at the end the delicate tracery of 
 an old-fashioned trellis against the wall. It was so 
 hard to succeed ; one must hold on so long to reach 
 the desired point, always close at hand and always 
 receding. Why was it that Colette seemed every 
 moment on the point of falling into his arms, and yet 
 when he went back he had to begin again from the 
 beginning ? It looked as if in his absence some one 
 for amusement pulled down his work. Who was it ? 
 It was that dead fellow, confound him ! He ought to 
 be at her side from morning to night ; but how could 
 he, with the perpetual necessity of running after 
 money ? 
 
 There came a light step, a soft sound of velvet. 
 It was his mother looking for him. Why did he not 
 come into the drawing-room with all the rest ? She 
 leaned over the balustrade beside him and wanted to 
 know what he was thinking about. 
 
 ' Oh, nothing, nothing.' But further pressed he 
 came out with it. Well, the fact was — the fact was
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' IO9 
 
 — that he had had enough of starving. Dun, dun, 
 dun. One hole stopped and another opened. He 
 would not stand any more of it, so there ! 
 
 From the drawing-room came loud exclamations 
 and wild laughter, together with the expressionless 
 voice of Valere, directing the dancer in the imitation 
 of an old-fashioned ballet figure. 
 
 ' How much do you want ?' whispered the mother 
 trembling. She had never seen him like this before. 
 
 ' No, it's no use ; it's more than you could possibly 
 manage.' 
 
 ' How much?' she asked again. 
 
 1 Eight hundred.' And the agent must have it to- 
 morrow by five o'clock, or else he would take posses- 
 sion. There would be a sale and all sorts of horrors. 
 Sooner than that — and here he ground his cigar be- 
 tween his teeth as he said the last words — ' better 
 make a hole in my frontispiece.' 
 
 The mother had heard enough. 'Hush! hush!' 
 she said. 'By five o'clock to-morrow? Hush!' And 
 she flung herself upon him, and she pressed her hands 
 in agony upon his lips, as if .she would arrest there 
 the appalling sentence of death.
 
 110 ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 That night she could not sleep. Eight hundred 
 pounds ! eight hundred pounds ! The words went to 
 and fro in her head. Where were they to be found ? 
 To whom could she apply ? There was so little time. 
 Names and faces flashed before her, passing for a 
 moment where the pale gleam of the night-light fell on 
 the ceiling, only to disappear and be replaced by other 
 names and other faces, which vanished as quickly in 
 their turn. Freydet ? She had just made use of him. 
 Sammy ? Had nothing till he married. Besides, did 
 anybody do such a thing as to borrow or lend eight 
 hundred pounds? No one but a poet from the 
 country. In Parisian society money never appears 
 on the scene ; it is assumed that you have it and 
 are above these details, like the people in genteel 
 comedy. A breach of this convention would banish 
 the transgressor from respectable company. 
 
 And while Madame Astier pursued her feverish 
 thoughts she saw beside her the round back of her 
 husband rising and falling peacefully. It was one of 
 the depressing incidents of their joint life that they
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' III 
 
 had lain thus side by side for thirty years, having 
 nothing in common but the bed. But never had the 
 isolation of her surly bedfellow so strongly aroused 
 her indignation. What was the use of waking him, 
 of talking to him about the boy and his desperate 
 threat ? She knew perfectly well that he would not 
 believe her, nor so much as move the big back which 
 protected his repose. She was inclined for a minute 
 to fall upon him, to pummel him, and scratch him, 
 and rouse him out of his selfish slumbers by shouting 
 in his ear : ' Leonard, your papers are on fire !' And 
 as the thought of the papers flashed madly across 
 her mind she almost leaped out of bed. She had 
 got her eight hundred ! The drawers upstairs ! 
 How was it she had not thought of them before ? 
 There she lay, till day dawned and the night-light 
 went out with a sputter, content and motionless, 
 arranging what she should do, with the look of a 
 thief in her open eyes. 
 
 Before the usual hour she was dressed, and all 
 the morning prowled about the rooms, watching her 
 husband. He talked of going out, but changed his 
 mind, and went on with his sorting till breakfast. 
 Between his study and the attic he went to and fro 
 with armfuls of pamphlets, humming a careless tune. 
 He had not feeling enough to perceive the con- 
 strained agitation which surcharged the air with
 
 112 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 nervous electricity and played among the furniture 
 in the cupboards, and upon the handles of the doors. 
 He worked on undisturbed. At table he was talka- 
 tive, told idiotic stories, which she knew by heart, in- 
 terminable as the process of crumbling with his knife 
 his favourite cheese. Piece after piece of cheese he 
 took, and still one anecdote followed another. And 
 when the time came for going to the Institute, where 
 the Dictionary Committee was to sit before the 
 regular meeting, how long he took to start ! and in 
 spite of her eagerness to get him off quick, what an 
 age he spent over every little thing ! 
 
 The moment he turned the corner of the street, 
 without waiting to shut the window, she darted to 
 the serving-hatch, crying, ' Corentine, call a cab, 
 quick ! ' He was gone at last, and she flew up the 
 little staircase to the attic. 
 
 Crouching down to keep clear of the low ceiling 
 she began to try a bunch of keys in the lock which 
 fastened the bar of the drawers. She could not fit it. 
 She could not wait. She would have forced away, 
 without scruple, a side of the frame, but her fingers 
 gave way and her nails broke. She wanted something 
 to prise with. She opened the drawer of the card- 
 table : and there lay three yellow scrawls. They 
 were the very things she was looking for — the letters 
 of Charles V.! Such miracles do happen sometimes!
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 113 
 
 She bent down to the low-arched window to make 
 sure, and read : ' Francois Rabelais, maitre en toutes 
 sciences et bonnes lettres.' Enough ! She started 
 up, hitting her head hard as she did so, and was not 
 aware of it till she was in the cab and on her way to 
 the shop of the famous Bos in the Rue de l'Abbaye. 
 
 She got down at the corner of the street. It 
 is a short quiet street, overshadowed by St. Ger- 
 main des Pres and by the old red brick buildings of 
 the School of Surgery. A few of the surgeons' car- 
 riages, professional broughams with splendid liveries, 
 were in waiting. Scarcely anyone was about. Pigeons 
 were feeding on the pavement, and flew away as she 
 came to the shop opposite the school. It offers both 
 books and curiosities, and exhibits an archaic inscrip- 
 tion, highly appropriate to such a nook of Old Paris : 
 * Bos : Antiquary and Palaeographer.' 
 
 The shop-front displayed something of all sorts : 
 old manuscripts, ancient ledgers with mould spots 
 on the edges, missals with damaged gilding, book- 
 clasps and book-covers. To the upper panes were 
 fastened assignats, old placards, plans of Paris, bal- 
 lads, military franks with spots of blood, autographs 
 of all ages, some verses by Madame Lafargue, two 
 letters from Chateaubriand to ' Pertuze, Boot-maker, 
 names of celebrities ancient and modern at the foot 
 of an invitation to dinner, or perhaps a request for 
 
 I
 
 114 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 money, a complaint of poverty, a love letter, &c, 
 enough to cure anyone of writing for ever. All the 
 autographs were priced ; and as Madame Astier 
 paused for a moment before the window she might 
 see next to a letter of Rachel, price 1 2/., a letter from 
 Leonard Astier-Rehu to Petit Sequard, his publisher, 
 price 2s. But this was not what she came for : she 
 was trying to discover, behind the screen of green 
 silk, the face of her intended customer, the master of 
 the establishment. She was seized with a sudden 
 fear : suppose he was not at home after all ! 
 
 The thought of Paul waiting gave her determina- 
 tion, and she went into the dark, close, dusty room. 
 She was taken at once into a little closet behind, 
 and began to explain her business to M. Bos, who, 
 with his large red face and disordered hair, looked 
 like a speaker at a public meeting. A temporary 
 difficulty — her husband did not like to come him- 
 self— and so But before she could finish her lie, 
 
 M. Bos, with a ' Pray, madame, pray,' had produced 
 a cheque on the Credit Lyonnais, and was accom- 
 panying her with the utmost politeness to her cab. 
 
 ' A very genteel person,' he said to himself, much 
 pleased with his acquisition, while she, as she took 
 the cheque out of the glove into which it had been 
 slipped, and looked again at the satisfactory figure, 
 was thinking What a delightful man ! ' She had
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 115 
 
 no remorse, not even the slight recoil which comes 
 from the mere fact that the thing is done. A woman 
 has not these feelings. She wears natural blinkers, 
 which prevent her from seeing anything but the 
 thing which she desires at the moment, and keep 
 her from the reflections which at the critical moment 
 embarrass a man. She thought at intervals, of 
 course, of her husband's anger when he discovered 
 the theft, but she saw it, as it were, dim in the dis- 
 tance. Nay, it was rather a satisfaction to add this 
 to all she had gone through since yesterday, and say 
 to herself, ' I can bear it for my child ! ' 
 
 For beneath her outward calm, her external enve- 
 lope as a woman of Academic fashion, lay a certain 
 thing that exists in all women, fashionable or not, 
 and that thing is passion. It is the pedal which 
 works the feminine instrument, not always discovered 
 by the husband or the lover, but always by the son. 
 In the dull story with no love in it, which makes up 
 the life of many a woman, the son is the hero and 
 the principal character. To her beloved Paul, espe- 
 cially since he had reached manhood, Madame Astier 
 owed the only genuine emotions of her life, the 
 delightful anguish of the waiting, the chill in the pale 
 cheeks and the heat in the hollow of the hand, the 
 supernatural intuitions which, before the carriage is 
 at the door, give the infallible warning that ' he comes
 
 Il6 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 — things which she had never known even in the 
 early years of her married life or in the days when 
 people called her imprudent, and her husband used 
 to say with simplicity, ' It's odd ; I never smoke, and 
 my wife's veils smell of tobacco.' 
 
 When she reached her son's, and the first pull of 
 the bell was not answered, her anxiety rose to dis- 
 traction. The little mansion showed no sign of life 
 from the ground to the ornamental roof-ridge, and, in 
 spite of its much-admired style, had to her eyes a 
 sinister appearance, as also had the adjoining lodg- 
 ing-house, not less architecturally admirable, but 
 showing bills all along the high mullioned windows 
 of its two upper storeys, ' To let ; To let ; To let.' 
 At the second pull, which produced a tremendous 
 ring, Stenne, the impudent little man-servant, look- 
 ing very spruce in his close-fitting sky-blue livery, 
 appeared at last at the door, rather confused and 
 hesitating : ' Oh yes, M. Paul was in, but — but — ' 
 
 The unhappy mother, haunted ever since yester- 
 day by the same horrible idea, pictured her son lying 
 in his blood, crossed at a bound the passage and three 
 steps, and burst breathless into the study. Paul was 
 standing at work before his desk in the bay window. 
 One pane of the stained glass was open, to throw 
 light upon the half-finished sketch and the box of 
 colours, while the rest of the perfumed apartment was
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' WJ 
 
 steeped in a soft subdued glow. Absorbed in his 
 work he seemed not to have heard the carriage stop, 
 the bell ring twice, and a lady's dress flit along the 
 passage. He had : but it was not his mother's 
 shabby black dress that he expected, it was not for 
 her that he posed at his desk, nor for her that he 
 had provided the delicate bouquets of fine irises and 
 tulips, or the sweetmeats and elegant decanters upon 
 the light table. 
 
 The way in which as he looked round he said, ' Oh, 
 it's you,' would have been significant to anyone but 
 his mother. She did not notice it, lost in the delight 
 of seeing him there, perfectly well, perfectly dressed. 
 She said not a word, but tearing her glove open she 
 triumphantly handed him the cheque. He did not 
 ask her where she got it, or what she had given for 
 it, but put his arms round her, taking care not to 
 crumple the paper. ' Dear old Mum ' ; that was all 
 he said, but it was enough for her, though her child 
 was not as overjoyed as she expected, but rather em- 
 barrassed. ' Where are you going next ? ' he said 
 thoughtfully, with the cheque in his hand. 
 
 1 Where next?' she repeated, looking at him with 
 disappointment. Why, she had only just come, and 
 made certain of spending a few minutes with him ; 
 but she could go if she was in the way. 'Why, I 
 think I shall go to the Princess's. But I am in no
 
 Il8 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 hurry ; she wearies me with her everlasting lamenta- 
 tion for Herbert. You think she has done with it, 
 and then it takes a fresh start.' 
 
 Paul was on the point of saying something, which 
 he did not say. 
 
 1 Well,' he said, ' Mammy, will you do something 
 for me? I am expecting somebody. Go and cash 
 this for me, and let the agent have the money in 
 return for my drafts. You don't mind ? ' 
 
 She did not indeed. If she went about his busi- 
 ness she would seem to be with him still. While he 
 was signing his name, the mother looked round the 
 room. There were charming carpets and curtains, 
 and nothing to mark the profession of the occupant 
 except an X ruler in old walnut, and some casts from 
 well-known friezes hung here and there. As she 
 thought of her recent agony and looked at the 
 elaborate bouquets and the refreshments laid by the 
 sofa, it occurred to her that these were unusual 
 preparations for a suicide. She smiled without any 
 resentment. The naughty wretch ! She only pointed 
 with her parasol at the bonbons in flic box and 
 said : 
 
 ' Those are to make a hole in your — your — what 
 do you call it ?' 
 
 He began to laugh too. 
 
 ' Oh, there's a great change since yesterday.
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' IIQ 
 
 The business, you know, the big thing I talked to 
 you about, is really coming off this time, I think.' 
 
 ' Really? So is mine.' 
 
 ' Eh ? Ah yes, Sammy's marriage.' 
 
 Their pretty cunning eyes, both of the same hard 
 grey, but the mother's a little faded, exchanged one 
 scrutinising glance. 
 
 ' You'll see, we shall be rolling in riches,' he said 
 after a moment. ' Now you must be going,' and he 
 hurried her gently to the door. 
 
 That morning Paul had had a note from the Prin- 
 cess to say that she should call for him at his own 
 house to go to the usual place. The usual place 
 was the cemetery. Lately there had been what 
 Madame Astier called ' a fresh start ' of Herbert. 
 Twice a week the widow went to the cemetery with 
 flowers, or tapers, or articles for the chapel, and 
 urged the progress of the work ; her conjugal feelings 
 had broken out again. The fact was, that after a 
 long and painful hesitation between her vanity and 
 her love, the temptation of keeping her title and 
 the fascinations of the delightful Paul — a hesitation 
 the more painful that she confided it to no one, except 
 in her journal every evening to 'poor Herbert'— the 
 appointment of Sammy had finally decided her, and 
 she thought it proper, before taking a new husband, 
 to complete the sepulture of the first and have done
 
 120 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 with the mausoleum and the dangerous intimacy 
 of its seductive designer. 
 
 Paul, without understanding the flutterings of 
 the foolish little soul, was amused by them, and 
 thought them excellent symptoms, indicating the 
 approach of the crisis. But the thing dragged, and 
 he was in a hurry ; it was time to hasten the con- 
 clusion and profit by Colette's visit, which had been 
 long proposed but long deferred, the Princess, though 
 curious to see the young man's lodgings, being appa- 
 rently afraid to meet him in a place much more 
 private than her own house or her carriage, where 
 there were always the servants to see. Not that 
 he had ever been over-bold ; he only seemed to 
 surround her with his presence. But she was afraid 
 of herself, her opinion coinciding with that of the 
 young man, who, being an experienced general in 
 such matters, had classed her at once as one of the 
 ' open towns.' It was his name for the sort of 
 fashionable women who, in spite of a high and ap- 
 parently unassailable position, in spite of a great ap- 
 paratus of defences in every direction, are in reality 
 to be carried by a bold attack. He did not 
 intend now to make the regular assault, but only 
 a smart approach or so of warm flirtation, suffi- 
 cient to set a mark upon his prey without hurting 
 her dignity, and to signify the final expropriation
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 121 
 
 of the deceased. The marriage and the million 
 would follow in due time. Such was the happy 
 dream which Madame Astier had interrupted. He 
 was pursuing it still, at the same desk and in the 
 same contemplative attitude, when the whole house 
 resounded with another ring at the bell, followed 
 however only by conversation at the front door. 
 'What is it?' said Paul impatiently, as he came out. 
 
 The voice of a footman, whose tall black figure 
 was conspicuous in the doorway against a background 
 of splashing rain, answered from the steps, with re- 
 spectful insolence, that my lady was waiting for him 
 in the carriage. Paul, though choking with rage, 
 managed to get out the words, ' I am coming.' 
 But what horrid curses he muttered under his 
 breath ! The dead fellow again ! Sure enough, it was 
 the remembrance of him that had kept her away. 
 But after a few seconds the hope of avenging himself 
 before long in a highly amusing way enabled him so 
 far to recover countenance, that when he joined the 
 Princess he was as cool as ever, and showed nothing 
 of his anger but a little extra paleness in the cheek. 
 
 It was warm in the brougham, the windows 
 having been put up because of the shower. Huge 
 bouquets of violets and wreaths as heavy as pies 
 loaded the cushions round Madame de Rosen and 
 filled her lap.
 
 122 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 ' Are the flowers unpleasant ? Shall I put the 
 window down?' said she, with the cajoling manner 
 which a woman puts on when she has played you 
 a trick and wants not to have a quarrel over it. 
 Paul's gesture expressed a dignified indifference. 
 It was nothing to him whether the window was 
 put down or put up. The Princess, whose deep 
 veil, still worn on such occasions as the present, con- 
 cealed a blooming face, felt more uncomfortable than 
 if he had reproached her openly. Poor young man ! 
 She was treating him so cruelly — so much more 
 cruelly than he knew ! She laid her hand gently 
 upon his, and said, ' You are not angry with me?' 
 
 He ? Not at all. Why should he be angry with 
 her? 
 
 ' For not coming in. I did say I would, but at 
 the last moment I— I did not think I should hurt you 
 so much.' 
 
 ' You hurt me very much indeed.' 
 
 When a gentleman of severely correct' deportment 
 is betrayed into a word or two of emotion, oh, what 
 an impression they make upon a woman's heart ! 
 They upset her almost as much as the tears of an 
 officer in uniform. 
 
 ' No, no,' she said, ' please, please do not distress 
 yourself any more about me. Please say that you 
 are not angry now.'
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 123 
 
 As she spoke she leaned quite close to him, letting 
 her flowers slip down. She felt quite safe with two 
 broad black backs and two black cockades visible on 
 the box under a large umbrella. 
 
 ' Look,' she went on ; ' I promise you to come 
 
 once — at least once— before ' but here she stopped 
 
 in dismay. Carried away by her feelings, she was on 
 the point of telling him that they were soon to part, 
 and that she was going to St. Petersburg. Recover- 
 ing herself in a moment, she declared emphatically 
 that she would call unannounced some afternoon 
 when she was not going to visit the mausoleum. 
 
 ' But you go there every afternoon,' he said, with 
 clenched teeth and such a queer accent of suppressed 
 indignation that a smile played beneath the widow's 
 veil, and to make a diversion she put down the win- 
 dow. The shower was over. The brougham had 
 turned into a poor quarter, where the street in its 
 squalid gaiety seemed to feel that the worst of the 
 year was past, as the sun, almost hot enough for 
 summer, lighted up the wretched shops, the barrows 
 at the gutter's edge, the tawdry placards, and the 
 rags that fluttered in the windows. The Princess 
 looked out upon it with indifference. Such trivialities 
 are non-existent for people accustomed to see them 
 from the cushions of their carriage at an elevation of 
 two feet from the road. The comfort of the springs
 
 124 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 and the protection of the glass have a peculiar influ- 
 ence upon the eyes, which take no interest in things 
 below their level. 
 
 Madame de Rosen was thinking, ' How he loves 
 me ! And how nice he is ! ' The other suitor was of 
 course more dignified, but it would have been much 
 pleasanter with this one. Oh, dear ! The happiest life 
 is but a service incomplete, and never a perfect set ! 
 
 By this time they were nearing the cemetery. On 
 both sides of the road were stonemasons' yards, in 
 which the hard white of slabs, images, and crosses 
 mingled with the gold of immortelles and the black or 
 white beads of wreaths and memorials. 
 
 'And what about Vedrine's statue? Which way 
 do we decide ? ' he asked abruptly, in the tone of a 
 man who means to confine himself to business. 
 
 'Well, really — ' she began. 'But, oh dear, oh 
 dear, I shall hurt your feelings again ? ' 
 
 ' My feelings ! how so ? ' 
 
 The day before, they had been to make a last in- 
 spection of the knight, before he was sent to the 
 foundry. At a previous visit the Princess had re- 
 ceived a disagreeable impression, not so much from 
 Vedrine's work, which she scarcely looked at, as from 
 the strange studio with trees growing in it, with lizards 
 and wood-lice running about the walls, and all around 
 it roofless ruins, suggesting recollections of the incen-
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 1 25 
 
 diary mob. But from the second visit the poor little 
 woman had come back literally ill. ' My dear, it is 
 the horror of horrors ! ' Such was her real opinion, 
 as given the same evening to Madame Astier. But 
 she did not dare to say so to Paul, knowing that he 
 was a friend of the sculptor, and also because the 
 name of Vedrine is one of the two or three which the 
 fashionable world has chosen to honour in spite of its 
 natural and implanted tastes, and regards with an 
 irrational admiration by way of pretending to artistic 
 originality. That the coarse rude figure should not 
 be put on dear Herbert's tomb she was determined, 
 but she was at a loss for a presentable reason. 
 
 ' Really, Monsieur Paul, between ourselves — of 
 course it is a splendid work — a fine Vedrine — but you 
 must allow that it is a little triste! 
 
 ' Well, but for a tomb ' suggested Paul. 
 
 ' And then, if you will not mind, there is this.' 
 With much hesitation she came to the point. Really, 
 you know, a man upon a camp bedstead with nothing 
 on ! Really she did not think it fit. It might be 
 taken for a portrait ! ' And just think of poor Her- 
 bert, the correctest of men ! What would it look 
 like ? ' 
 
 ' There is a good deal in that,' said Paul gravely, 
 and he threw his friend Vedrine overboard with as 
 little concern as a litter of kittens. ' After all, if you
 
 126 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 do not like the figure, we can put another, or none at 
 all. It would have a more striking effect. The tent 
 empty ; the bed ready, and no one to lie on it ! ' 
 
 The Princess, whose chief satisfaction was that the 
 shirtless ruffian would not be seen there, exclaimed, 
 1 Oh, how glad I am ! how nice of you ! I don't mind 
 telling you now, that I cried over it all night ! ' 
 
 As usual, when they stopped at the entrance gate, 
 the footman took the wreaths and followed some way 
 behind, while Colette and Paul climbed in the heat a 
 path made soft by the recent showers. She leaned 
 upon his arm, and from time to time ' hoped that she 
 did not tire him.' He shook his head with a sad 
 smile. There were few people in the cemetery. A 
 gardener and a keeper recognised the familiar figure 
 of the Princess with a respectful bow. But when they 
 had left the avenue and passed the upper terraces, it 
 was all solitude and shade. Besides the birds in the 
 trees they heard only the grinding of the saw and 
 the metallic clink of the chisel, sounds perpetual in 
 Pere-la-Chaise, as in some city always in building and 
 never finished. 
 
 Two or three times Madame de Rosen had seen 
 her companion glance with displeasure at the tall 
 lacquey in his long black overcoat and cockade, whose 
 funereal figure now as ever formed part of the love- 
 scene. Eager on this occasion to please him, she
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY 1 1 27 
 
 stopped, saying, ' Wait a minute,' took the flowers 
 herself, dismissed the servant, and they went on all 
 alone along the winding walk. But in spite of this 
 kindness, Paul's brow did not relax ; and, as he had 
 hung upon his free arm three or four rings of violets, 
 immortelles, and lilac, he felt more angry with the 
 deceased than ever. ' You shall pay me for this,' was 
 his savage reflection. She, on the contrary, felt 
 singularly happy, in that vivid consciousness of life 
 and health which comes upon us in places of death. 
 Perhaps it was the warmth of the day, the perfume of 
 the flowers, mixing their fragrance with the stronger 
 scent of the yews and the box trees and the moist 
 earth steaming in the sun, and with another yet, an 
 acrid, faint, and penetrating scent, which she knew 
 well, but which, to-day, instead of revolting her senses, 
 as usual, seemed rather to intoxicate them. 
 
 Suddenly a shiver passed over her. The hand 
 which lay on the young man's arm was suddenly 
 grasped in his, grasped with force and held tight, held 
 as it were in an embrace, and the little hand dared 
 not take itself away. The fingers of his hand were 
 trying to get between the delicate fingers of hers and 
 take possession of it altogether. Hers resisted, trying 
 to clench itself in the glove by way of refusal. All 
 the time they went on walking, arm in arm, neither 
 speaking nor looking, but much moved, resistance,
 
 128 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 according to the natural law, exciting the relative 
 desire. At last came the surrender ; the little hand 
 opened, and their ringers joined in a clasp which 
 parted their gloves, for one exquisite moment of full 
 avowal and complete possession. The next minute 
 the woman's pride awoke. She wanted to speak, to 
 show that she was mistress of herself, that she had 
 no part in what was done, nor knowledge of it at all. 
 Finding nothing to say, she read aloud the epitaph on 
 a tomb lying flat among the weeds, ' Augusta, 1847,' 
 and he continued, under his breath, ' A love-story, 
 no doubt.' Overhead the thrushes and finches uttered 
 their strident notes, not unlike the sounds of the stone- 
 cutting, which were heard uninterruptedly in the 
 distance. 
 
 They were now entering the Twentieth Division, 
 the part of the cemetery which may be called its ' old 
 town,' where the paths are narrower, the trees higher, 
 the tombs closer together, a confused mass of iron- 
 work, pillars, Greek temples, pyramids, angels, genii, 
 busts, wings open and wings folded. The tombs 
 were various as the lives now hidden beneath — com- 
 monplace, odd, original, simple, forced, pretentious, 
 modest. In some the floor-stones were freshly cleaned 
 and loaded with flowers, memorials, and miniature 
 gardens of a Chinese elegance in littleness. In others 
 the mossy slabs were mouldering or parting, and were
 
 ONE OF THE * FORTY ' 120. 
 
 covered with brambles and high weeds. But all bore 
 well-known names, names distinctly Parisian, names 
 of lawyers, judges, merchants of eminence, ranged 
 here in rows as in the haunts of business and trade. 
 There were even double names, standing for family 
 partnerships in capital and connection, substantial 
 signatures, known no more to the directory or the 
 bank ledger, but united for ever upon the tomb. And 
 Madame de Rosen remarked them with the same 
 tone of surprise, almost of pleasure, with which she 
 would have bowed to a carriage in the Park, ' Ah! 
 the So-and-So's ! Mario ? was that the singer ? ' and 
 so forth, all by way of seeming not to know that their 
 hands were clasped. 
 
 But presently the door of a tomb near them 
 creaked, and there appeared a large lady in black, 
 with a round fresh face. She carried a little watering- 
 pot, and was putting to rights the flower-beds, oratory, 
 and tomb generally, as calmly as if she had been in a 
 summer-house. She nodded to them across the in- 
 closure with a kindly smile of unselfish good will, 
 which seemed to say, ' Use your time, happy lovers ; 
 life is short, and nothing good but love.' A feeling 
 of embarrassment unloosed their hands, The spell 
 was broken, and the Princess, with a sort of shame, 
 led the way across the tombs, taking the quickest and 
 shortest line to reach the mausoleum of the Prince. 
 
 K
 
 130 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 It stood on the highest ground in ' Division 20,' 
 upon a large level of lawn and flowers, inclosed by a 
 low rich rail of wrought iron in the style of the 
 Scaliger tombs at Verona. Its general appearance 
 was designedly rough, and fairly realised the concep- 
 tion of an antique tent with its coarse folds, the red 
 of the Dalmatian granite giving the colour of the bark 
 in which the canvas had been steeped. At the top 
 of three broad steps of granite was the entrance, 
 flanked with pedestals and high funereal tripods of 
 bronze blackened with a sort of lacquer. Above were 
 the Rosen arms upon a large scutcheon, also of bronze, 
 the shield of the good knight who slept within the 
 tent. 
 
 Entering the inclosure, they laid the wreaths here 
 and there, on the pedestals and on the slanted pro- 
 jections, representing huge tent-pegs, at the edge of 
 the base. The Princess went to the far end of the 
 interior, where in the darkness before the altar shone 
 the silver fringes of two kneeling-desks, and the old 
 gold of a Gothic cross and massive candlesticks, and 
 there fell upon her knees — a good place to pray in, 
 among the cool slabs, the panels of black marble 
 glittering with the name and full titles of the dead, 
 and the inscriptions from Ecclesiastes or the Song of 
 Songs. But the Princess could find only a few in- 
 distinct words, confused with profane thoughts, which
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 131 
 
 made her ashamed. She rose and busied herself with 
 the flower-stands, retiring gradually far enough to 
 judge the effect of the sarcophagus or bed. The 
 cushion of black bronze, with silver monogram, was 
 already in its place, and she thought the hard couch 
 with nothing upon it had a fine and simple effect. 
 But she wanted the opinion of Paul, who could be 
 heard pacing the gravel as he waited without. Men- 
 tally approving his delicacy, she was on the point of 
 calling him in, when the interior grew dark, and on 
 the trefoil lights of the lantern was heard the patter 
 of another shower, Twice she called him, but he did 
 not move from the pedestal, where he sat exposed to 
 the rain, and without speaking declined her invitation. 
 
 ' Come in,' she said, ' come in.' 
 
 Still he stayed, saying rapidly and low, ' I do 
 not want to come. You love him so.' 
 
 ' Come,' she still said, ' come,' and taking his hand 
 drew him to the entrance. Step by step the splash- 
 ing of the rain made them draw back as far as the 
 sarcophagus, and there, half sitting, half standing, 
 they remained side by side, contemplating beneath 
 the low clouds the ' old town ' of the dead, which 
 sloped away at their feet with its crowding throng 
 of pinnacles and grey figures and humbler stones, 
 rising like Druid architecture from the bright green. 
 
 No birds were audible, nc sound of tools, nothing 
 
 k 2
 
 132 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 but the water running away on all sides, and from 
 the canvas cover of a half-finished monument the 
 monotonous voices of two artisans discussing their 
 worries. The rain without made it all the warmer 
 within, and with the strong aroma of the flowers 
 mingled still that other inseparable scent. The 
 Princess had raised her veil, feeling the same oppres- 
 sion and dryness of the mouth that she had felt on 
 the way up. Speechless and motionless, the pair 
 seemed so much a part of the tomb, that a little 
 brown bird came hopping in to shake its feathers 
 and pick a worm between the slabs. ' It's a nightin- 
 gale,' murmured Paul in the sweet overpowering still- 
 ness. She tried to say, 'Do they sing still in this 
 month ? ' But he had taken her in his arms, he had 
 set her between his knees at the edge of the granite 
 couch, and putting her head back, pressed upon her 
 half-open lips a long, long kiss, passionately returned. 
 'Because love is more strong than death,' said the 
 inscription from the Canticle, written above them 
 upon the marble wall. 
 
 When the Princess reached her house, where 
 Madame Astier was awaiting her return, she had a 
 long cry in the arms of her friend, a refuge unhappily 
 not more trustworthy than those of her friend's son. 
 It was a burst of lamentation and broken words. 
 ' Oh, my dear, oh, my dear, how miserable I am ! If
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' I33 
 
 you knew/ she said, ' if you only knew ! ' She felt 
 with despair the hopeless difficulty of the situation, 
 her hand solemnly promised to the Prince d'Athis, 
 and her affections just plighted to the enchanter of 
 the tombs, whom she cursed from the depths of her 
 soul. And, most distressing of all, she could not 
 confide her weakness to her affectionate friend, being 
 sure that, the moment she opened her lips, the 
 mother would side with her son against ' Sammy,' 
 with love against prudence, and perhaps even compel 
 her to the intolerable degradation of marrying a 
 commoner. 
 
 ' There then, there then,' said Madame Astier, 
 unaffected by the torrent of grief. 'You are come 
 from the cemetery, I suppose, where you have been 
 working up your feelings again. But you know, dear, 
 there must be an end to Artemisia ! ' She under- 
 stood the woman's weak vanity, and insisted on the 
 absurdity of this interminable mourning, ridiculous in 
 the eyes of the world, and at all events injurious to 
 her beauty And after all, it was not a question of 
 a second love-match ! What was proposed was no 
 more than an alliance between two names and titles 
 equally noble. Herbert himself, if he saw her from 
 heaven, must be content. 
 
 ' He did understand things, certainly, poor dear,* 
 sighed Colette de Rosen, whose maiden name was
 
 134 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 Sauvadon. She was set on becoming ' Madame 
 1'Ambassadrice,' and still more on remaining 
 ' Madame la Princesse.' 
 
 ' Look, dear, will you have a piece of good ad- 
 vice ? You just run away. Sammy will start in a 
 week. Do not wait for him. Take Lavaux. He 
 knows St. Petersburg, and will settle you there mean- 
 while. And there will be this advantage, that you 
 will escape a painful scene with the Duchess. A 
 Corsican, you know, is capable of anything.' 
 
 ' Ye-es, perhaps I had better go,' said Madame 
 de Rosen, to whom the chief merit of the plan was 
 that she would avoid any fresh attack, and put dis- 
 tance between her and the folly of the afternoon. 
 
 ' Is it the tomb ? ' asked Madame Astier, seeing 
 her hesitate. ' Is that it ? Why, Paul will finish it 
 very well without you. Come, pet, no more tears. 
 You may water your beauty, but you must not over- 
 water it.' As she went away in the fading light to 
 wait for her omnibus, the good lady said to herself, 
 ' Oh dear, D'Athis will never know what his marriage 
 is costing me ! ' And here her feeling of weariness, 
 her longing for a good rest after so many trials, re- 
 minded her suddenly that the most trying of all was 
 to come, the discovery and confession at home. She 
 had not yet had time to think about it, and now she 
 was going fast towards it, nearer and nearer with
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' I35 
 
 every turn of the heavy wheels. The very anticipa- 
 tion made her shudder: it was not fear ; but the frantic 
 outcries of Astier-Rehu, his big rough voice, the 
 answer that must be given, and then the inevitable 
 reappearance of his trunk — oh, what a weariness it 
 would be ! Could it not be put off till to-morrow ? 
 She was tempted not to confess at once, but to turn 
 suspicion upon some one else, upon Teyssedre for 
 instance, till the next morning. She would at least 
 get a quiet night. 
 
 ' Ah, here is Madame ! Something has happened/ 
 cried Corentine, as she ran to the door in a fluster, 
 excitement making more conspicuous than usual the 
 marks of her smallpox. Madame Astier made 
 straight for her own room ; but the door of the study 
 opened, and a peremptory ' Adelaide ! ' compelled 
 her to go in. The rays of the lamp-globe showed her 
 that the face of her husband had a strange expression. 
 He took her by the two hands and drew her into 
 the light. Then in a quivering voice he said, ' Loi- 
 sillon is dead,' and he kissed her on both cheeks. 
 
 Not found out ! No, not yet. He had not even 
 gone up to his papers ; but had been pacing his 
 study for two hours, eager to see her and tell her 
 this great news, these three words which meant a 
 change in their whole life. ' Loisillon is dead !'
 
 136 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Mile. Germaine de Freydet, 
 
 Clos Jallanges. 
 
 MY DEAREST SISTER, — Your letters distress me much. 
 I know you are lonely and ill, and feel my absence ; 
 but what am I to do ? Remember my master's advice 
 to show myself and be seen. It is not, as you may 
 suppose, at Clos Jallanges, in my tweed suit and leg- 
 gings, that I could get on with my candidature. I 
 cannot but see that the time is near. Loisillon is 
 sinking visibly, dying by inches ; and I am using the 
 time to make friendships among the Academicians, 
 which may mean votes hereafter. Astier has already 
 introduced me to several of them. I often go to 
 fetch him after the meetings. It is charming to see 
 them come out of the Institute, almost all laden with 
 years as with honours, and walk away arm-in-arm in 
 groups of three or four, bright and happy, talking 
 loud and filling the pavement, their eyes still wet 
 after the hearty laughs they have had within. ' Paille- 
 ron is very smart,' says one ; ' But Danjou gave it
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 1 37 
 
 him back,' says another. As for me, I fasten on 
 to the arm of Astier-Rehu and, ranked with the 
 deities, seem almost a deity myself. One by one at 
 this or that bridge the groups break up. ' See you 
 next Thursday,' is the last word. And I go back to 
 the Rue de Beaune with my master, who gives me 
 encouragement and advice, and in the confidence of 
 success says, with his frank laugh, ' Look at me, 
 Freydet ; I am twenty years younger after a meeting ! ' 
 
 I really believe the dome does keep them fresh. 
 Where is there another old man as lusty as Jean 
 Rehu, whose ninety-eighth birthday we celebrated 
 yesterday evening by a dinner at Voisin's ? Lavaux 
 suggested it, and if it cost me 40/., it gave me the 
 opportunity of counting my men. We were twenty- 
 five at table, all Academicians, except Picheral, 
 Lavaux, and myself. I have the votes of seventeen or 
 eighteen ; the rest are uncertain, but well disposed. 
 Dinner very well served, and very chatty. 
 
 By the way, I have asked Lavaux to come to 
 Clos Jallanges for his holiday. He is librarian of the 
 Bibliotheque Mazarine. He shall have the large room 
 in the wing, looking out on the pheasants. I don't 
 think highly of his character, but I must have him ; 
 he is the Duchess's ' zebra ' ! Did I tell you that a 
 zebra in ladies' language is a bachelor friend, unoccu- 
 pied, discreet, and quick, kept always at hand for
 
 I38 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 errands and missions too delicate to be trusted to a 
 servant ? In the intervals of his diplomacy a young 
 zebra may sometimes get particular gratifications, 
 but as a rule the animal is tame and wants little, 
 content with small promotion, a place at the bottom 
 of the table, and the honour of showing his paces 
 before the lady and her friends. Lavaux, I fancy, 
 has made his place profitable in other ways. He 
 is so clever and, in spite of his easy manner, so much 
 dreaded. He knows, as he says, ' the servants' hall ' 
 of two establishments, literature and politics, and he 
 shows me the holes and traps of which the road to 
 the Institute is full. Astier, my master, does not 
 know them to this day. In his grand simplicity he 
 has climbed straight up, unaware of danger, with his 
 eyes upon the dome, confident in his strength and 
 his labour. A hundred times he would have broken 
 his neck, if his wife, the cleverest of clever women, 
 had not guided him unperceived. 
 
 It was Lavaux who dissuaded me from publishing 
 between this and the next vacancy my ' Thoughts of 
 a Rustic." ' No, no,' said he to me, ' you have done 
 enough. You might well even let it be understood 
 that you will not write any more. Your work is 
 over, and you are a mere gentleman at large. The 
 Academie loves that.' I put that with the valuable 
 hint from Picheral : ' Do not take them your books.'
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 1 39 
 
 The fewer your works, I see, the better your claim. 
 Picheral has much influence ; he too must come to 
 us this summer. Put him on the second floor, in 
 what was the box-room, or somewhere. Poor 
 Germaine, it is a great bother for you, and ill as you 
 are! But where's the help? It is bad enough not 
 to have a house in town for the winter and give 
 parties, like Dalzon, Moser, and all my competitors. 
 Do, do take care of yourself and get well. 
 
 To go back to my dinner party. There was natu- 
 rally much talk of the Academie, its elections and 
 duties, its merits and demerits in public estimation. 
 The ' deities ' hold that those who run down the 
 institution are all, without exception, poor creatures 
 who cannot get in. For the strong apparent instances 
 to the contrary, there was a reason in each case. I 
 ventured to mention the great name of Balzac, a man 
 from our country. But the playwright Desminieres, 
 who used to manage the amateur theatricals at 
 Compiegne, burst out with ( Balzac ! But did you 
 know him ? Do you know, sir, the sort of man he 
 was ? An utter Bohemian ! A man, sir, who never 
 had a guinea in his pocket ! I had it from his friend 
 Frederic Lemaitre. Never one guinea ! And you 
 
 would have had the Academie ' Here old Jean 
 
 Rdhu, having his trumpet to his ear, got the notion 
 that we were talking of ' tallies,' and told us the fine
 
 140 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 story of his friend Suard coming to the Academic 
 on January 21, 1793, the day the king was executed, 
 and availing himself of the absence of his colleagues 
 to sweep off the whole fees for the meeting. 
 
 He tells a story well, does the old gentleman, and 
 but for his deafness would be a brilliant talker. 
 When I gave his health, with a few complimentary 
 verses on his marvellous youth, the old fellow in 
 a gracious reply called me his dear colleague. My 
 master Astier corrected him — ' future colleague.' 
 Laughter and applause. ' Future colleague ' was 
 the title which they all gave me as they said good- 
 bye, shaking my hand with a significant pressure, and 
 adding, * We shall meet before long,' or ' See you 
 soon,' in reference to my expected call. It is not 
 a pleasant process, paying these calls, but everyone 
 goes through it. Astier-Rehu told me, as we came 
 away from the dinner, that when he was elected old 
 Dufaure let him come ten times without seeing him. 
 Well, he would not give up, and the eleventh time 
 the door was thrown open. Nothing like persis- 
 tence. 
 
 In truth, if Ripault-Babin or Loisillon died (they 
 are both in danger, but even now I have most hopes 
 of Ripault-Babin), my only serious competitor would 
 be Dalzon. He has talent and wealth, stands well 
 with the ' dukes,' and his cellar is capital ; the only
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 141 
 
 thing against him is a youthful peccadillo lately 
 discovered, ' Without the Veil/ a poem of 600 lines 
 printed ' at Eropolis,' anonymously, and utterly out- 
 rageous. They say that he has bought up and 
 suppressed the whole, but there are still some copies 
 in circulation with signature and dedication. Poor 
 Dalzon contradicts the story and makes a desperate 
 fight. The Acad^mie reserves judgment pending 
 the inquiry. That is why my respected master said 
 to me gravely one evening without giving reasons, 
 ' I shall not vote again for M. Dalzon.' The 
 Academie is a club, that is the important thing to 
 remember. You cannot go in without proper dress 
 and clean hands. For all that I have too much 
 gallantry and too much respect for my opponent to 
 make use of such concealed weapons ; and Fage, the 
 bookbinder in the Cour des Comptes, the strange 
 little humpback whom I sometimes meet in V^drine's 
 studio — Fage, I say, who has much acquaintance with 
 the curiosities of bibliography, got a good snub when 
 he offered me one of the signed copies of ' Without 
 the Veil.' 'Then it will go to M. Moser/ was his 
 calm reply. 
 
 Talking of Vedrine, I am in an awkward position. 
 In the warmth of our first few meetings I made him 
 promise to bring his family to stay with us in the 
 country. But how can we have him along with
 
 I42 ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 
 
 people like Astier and Lavaux, who detest him ? He 
 is so uncivilised, such an oddity ! Just imagine ! He 
 is by descent Marquis de Vedrine, but even at school 
 he suppressed the title and the ' de,' additions coveted 
 by most people in this democratic age, when every- 
 thing else may be got. And what is his reason ? 
 Because, do you see, he wants to be liked for his 
 own sake ! The latest of him is that the Princess 
 de Rosen will not take the knight, which he has 
 done for the Prince's tomb. It was mentioned every 
 minute in the family, where money is not plenty. 
 ' When we have sold the knight, I am to have a 
 clockwork horse,' said the boy. The poor mother 
 too counted upon the knight for refurnishing her 
 empty presses, and to Vedrine himself the price 
 of the master-piece meant just three months' holiday 
 in a Nile-boat. Well ! the knight not sold, or to 
 be paid for heaven knows when, after a lawsuit and 
 a valuation, if you fancy they are thrown out by that, 
 you are much mistaken. When I got to the Cour 
 des Comptes the day after the disappointment, I 
 found friend Vedrine planted before an easel, 
 absorbed in pleasure, sketching upon a large canvas 
 the curious wild vegetation on the burnt building. 
 Behind him were his wife and son in ecstasy, and 
 Madame Vedrine, with the little girl in her arms, said 
 to me in a serious undertone, ' We are so happy ;
 
 ONE OF THE « FORTY ' I43 
 
 Monsieur V^drine has at last got to oils.' Is it not 
 laughable ? Is it not touching ? 
 
 This piecemeal letter, dear, will show you in what 
 a bustle and fever I live since I have been working at 
 my candidature. I go here and go there, to ' at homes,' 
 to dinner parties, to evening parties. I am even 
 supposed to be ' zebra ' to good Madame Ancelin, 
 because I am constant at her drawing-room on 
 Fridays, and on Tuesday evenings in her box at the 
 Frangais. A very countrified ' zebra,' I am sure, in 
 spite of the changes I have had made to give myself 
 a graver and more fashionable appearance. You must 
 look for a surprise when I come back. Last Monday 
 there was a select party at the Duchess Padovani's, 
 where I had the honour to be presented to the Grand- 
 Duke Leopold. His Highness complimented me on 
 my last book-, and all my books, which he knows as 
 well as I do. It is marvellous what foreigners do 
 know. But it is at the Astiers' that I am most com- 
 fortable. It is such a primitive, simple, united family. 
 One day, after breakfast, there arrived a new Academic 
 coat for the master, and we tried it on together. I 
 say ' we,' for he wanted to see how the palm leaves 
 looked upon me. I put on the coat, hat, and sword, 
 a real sword, my dear, which comes out, and has a 
 groove in the middle for the blood to run away, and 
 I assure you I was struck with my appearance ; but
 
 144 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 this I tell you only to show the intimacy of this 
 invaluable friendship. 
 
 When I come back to my peaceful, if narrow, 
 quarters, if it is too late to write to you, I always do 
 a little counting. On the full list of the Acad<£mie I 
 tick those of whom I am sure, and those who stand 
 by Dalzon. Then I do various sums in subtraction 
 and addition. It is an excellent amusement, as you 
 will see when I show you. As I was telling you, 
 Dalzon has the ' dukes,' but the writer of the ' House 
 of Orleans,' who is received at Chantilly, is to intro- 
 duce me there before long. If I get on there — and 
 with this object I am diligently studying a certain 
 engagement at Rocroy ; so you see your brother is 
 becoming deep— well, if I get on, the author of 
 'Without the Veil, printed at Eropolis,' loses his 
 strongest support. As for my opinions, I do not dis- 
 avow them. I am a Republican, but not extreme, and 
 more particularly I am a Candidate ! Immediately 
 after this little expedition I quite expect to come 
 back to my darling Germaine, who will, I do hope, 
 bear up and think of the happiness of the triumph ! 
 We will do it, dear ! We will get into the ' goose's 
 garden,' as it is called by that Bohemian Ve\drine ; 
 but we shall need endurance. 
 
 Your loving brother, 
 
 Abel de Freydet.
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY J 145 
 
 I have opened my letter again to say that the 
 morning papers announce the death of Loisillon. 
 The stroke of fate is always affecting, even when fully 
 expected. What a sad event ! What a loss to French 
 literature ! And unhappily, dear, it will keep me here 
 still longer. Please pay the labourers. More news 
 soon.
 
 146 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Destiny had willed that Loisillon, fortunate always, 
 should be fortunate in dying at the right moment. 
 A week later, when houses were closed, society broken 
 up, the Chamber and the Institute not sitting, his 
 funeral train would have been composed of Academi- 
 cians attentive to their tallies, followed only by 
 deputies from the numerous societies of which he 
 was Secretary or President. But business-like to the 
 last and after, he went off to the moment, just before 
 the Grand Prix, choosing a week entirely blank, when, 
 as there was no crime, or duel, or interesting lawsuit, 
 or political event, the sensational obsequies of the 
 Permanent Secretary would be the only pastime of 
 the town. 
 
 The funeral mass was to be at twelve o'clock, 
 and long before that hour an immense crowd was 
 gathering round St. Germain des Pr£s. The traffic 
 was stopped, and no carriages but those of persons 
 invited were allowed to pass within the rails, strictly 
 kept by a line of policemen posted at intervals. Who 
 Loisillon was, what he had done in his seventy years'
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 147 
 
 sojourn among mankind, what was the meaning of 
 the capital letter embroidered in silver on the funeral 
 drapery, was known to but few in the crowd. The 
 one thing which struck them was the arrangement 
 of the protecting line, and the large space left to the 
 dead, distance, room, and emptiness being the constant 
 symbols of respect and grandeur. It had been un- 
 derstood that there would be a chance of seeing 
 actresses and persons of notoriety, and the cockneys 
 at a distance were putting names to the faces they 
 recognised among the groups conversing in front of 
 the church. 
 
 There, under the black-draped porch, was the 
 place for hearing the true funeral oration on Loisillon, 
 quite other than that which was to be delivered pre- 
 sently at Mont Parnasse, and the true article on the 
 man and his work, very different from the notices 
 ready for to-morrow's newspapers. His work was a 
 * Journey in Val d'Andorre,' and two reports pub- 
 lished at the National Press, relating to the time when 
 he was Superintendent at the Beaux-Arts. The man 
 was a sort of shrewd attorney, creeping and cringing, 
 with a permanent bow and an apologetic attitude, 
 which seemed to ask your pardon for his decorations, 
 your pardon for his insignia, your pardon for his place 
 in the Acaddmie — where his experience as a man of 
 business was useful in fusing together a number of 
 
 L2
 
 148 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 different elements, with none of which he could well 
 have been classed — your pardon for the amazing suc- 
 cess which had raised so high such a worthless winged 
 grub. It was remembered that at an official dinner 
 he had said of himself complacently, as he bustled 
 round the table with a napkin on his arm, ' What an 
 excellent servant I should have made ! ' And it might 
 have been written on his tomb. 
 
 And while they moralised upon the nothingness 
 of his life, his corpse, the remains of nothing, was 
 receiving the honours of death. Carriage after 
 carriage drew up at the church ; liveries brown and 
 liveries blue came and disappeared ; long-frocked 
 footmen bowed to the pavement with a pompous 
 banging of doors and steps ; the groups of journalists 
 respectfully made way, now for the Duchess Padovani, 
 stately and proud, now for Madame Ancelin, bloom- 
 ing in her crape, now for Madame Eviza, whose 
 Jewish eyes shone through her veil with blaze enough 
 to attract a constable — all the ladies of the Academie, 
 assembled in full congregation to practise their wor- 
 ship, not so much by a service to the memory of 
 Loisillon, as by contemplation of their living idols, 
 the ' deities ' made and fashioned by the cunning of 
 their little hands, the work upon which, as women, 
 they had employed the superabundance of their 
 energy, artfulness, ambition, and pride. Some
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 149 
 
 actresses had come too, on the pretext that the 
 deceased had been the president of some sort of 
 Actors' Orphanage, but moved in reality by the 
 frantic determination ' not to be out of it,' which 
 belongs to their class. Their expressions of woe 
 were such that they might have been taken for near 
 relations. A carriage suddenly drawing up set down 
 a distracted group of black veils, whose sorrow was 
 distressing to witness. The widow, at last? No, it 
 is Marguerite Ogcr, the great sensational actress, 
 whose appearance excites all round the square a 
 prolonged stir and much pushing about. From the 
 porch a journalist ran forward to meet her, and taking 
 her hands besought her to bear up. ' Yes,' she said, 
 ' I ought to be calm ; I will.' Whereupon, drying 
 her tears and forcing them back with her handker- 
 chief, she entered, or it should rather be said ' went 
 on,' into the darkness of the nave, with its back- 
 ground of glimmering tapers, fell down before a desk 
 on the ladies' side in a prostration of self-abandon- 
 ment, and rising with a sorrowful air said to another 
 actress at her side, ' How much did they take at the 
 Vaudeville last night?' '168/. iSs., y answered her 
 friend, with the same accent of grief. 
 
 Lost in the crowd at the edge of the square, Abel 
 de Freydet heard the people round him say, ' It's 
 Marguerite. How well she did it ! ' But being a
 
 150 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 small man, he was trying in vain to make his way, 
 when a hand was laid upon his shoulder. 'What, 
 still in Paris ? It must be a trial for your poor 
 sister,' said Vedrine, as he carried him along. Work- 
 ing his way with his strong elbows through the 
 stream of people who only came up to his shoulder, 
 and saying occasionally, 'Excuse me, gentlemen — 
 members of the family,' he brought to the front with 
 him his country friend, who, though delighted at the 
 meeting, felt some embarrassment, as the sculptor 
 talked after his fashion, freely and audibly. ' Bless 
 me, what luck Loisillon has ! Why there weren't 
 more people for Beranger. This is the sort of thing 
 to keep a young man's pecker up.' Here Freydet, 
 seeing the hearse approaching, took off his hat. 
 ' Good gracious, what have you done to your head ? 
 Turn round. Why you look like Louis Philippe!' 
 The poet's moustache was turned down, his hair 
 brushed forward, and his pleasant face showed its 
 complexion of ruddy brown between whiskers touched 
 with grey. He drew up his short figure with a stiff 
 dignity, whereat Vedrine laughing said, ' Ah, I see. 
 Made up for the grandees at Chantilly ? So you 
 are still bent upon the Academie ! Why, just look 
 at the exhibition yonder.' 
 
 In the sunlight and on the broad enclosure the 
 official attendants immediately behind the hearse
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 151 
 
 made a shocking show. Chance might seem to have 
 chosen them for a wager among the most ridiculous 
 seniors in the Institute, and they looked especially 
 ugly in the uniform designed by David, the coat 
 embroidered with green, the hat, the Court sword, 
 beating against legs for which the designer was cer- 
 tainly not responsible. First came Gazan ; his hat 
 was tilted awry by the bumps of his skull, and the 
 vegetable green of the coat threw into relief the 
 earthy colour and scaly texture of his elephantine 
 visage. At his side was the grim tall Laniboire 
 with purple apoplectic veins and a crooked mouth. 
 His uniform was covered by an overcoat whose 
 insufficient length left visible the end of his sword 
 and the tails of the frock, and gave him an appear- 
 ance certainly much less dignified than that of the 
 marshal with his black rod, who walked before. 
 Those that followed, such as Astier-Rehu and 
 Desminieres, were all embarrassed and uncomfort- 
 able, all acknowledged by their apologetic and self- 
 conscious bearing the absurdity of their disguise, 
 which, though it might pass in the chastened light of 
 their historic dome, seemed amid the real life of 
 the street not less laughable than a show of monkeys. 
 ' I declare one would like to throw some nuts to 
 see if they would go after them on all fours,' said 
 Freydet's undesirable companion. But Freydet did
 
 152 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 not catch the impertinent remark. He slipped away, 
 mixed with the procession, and entered the church 
 between two files of soldiers with arms reversed. He 
 was in his heart profoundly glad that Loisillon was 
 dead. He had never seen or known him ; he could 
 not love him for his work's sake, as he had done no 
 work ; and the only thing for which he could thank 
 him was that he had left his chair empty at such 
 a convenient moment. But he was impressed not- 
 withstanding. The funeral pomp to which custom 
 makes the old Parisian indifferent, the long line of 
 knapsacks, the muskets that fell on the flags with 
 a single blow (at the command of a boyish little 
 martinet, with a stock under his chin, who was pro- 
 bably performing on this occasion his first military 
 duty), and, above all, the funeral music and the 
 muffled drums, filled him with respectful emotion : 
 and as always happened when he felt keenly, rimes 
 began to rise. He had actually got a good begin- 
 ning, presenting a grand picture of the storm and 
 electric agitation and mental eclipse produced in 
 the atmosphere of a nation when one of its great 
 men disappears. But he broke off his thoughts to 
 make room for Danjou, who, having arrived very 
 late, pushed on amid the looks and whispers of the 
 ladies, gazing about him coldly and haughtily and 
 passing his hand over his head as he habitually
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 153 
 
 does, doubtless to ascertain the safety of his back 
 hair. 
 
 ' He did not recognise me,' thought Freydet, hurt 
 by the crushing glance with which the Academician 
 relegated to the ranks the nobody who had ventured 
 to greet him ; ' it's my whiskers, I suppose.' The 
 interruption turned the thoughts of the candidate 
 from his verses, and he began to consider his plan 
 of operations, his calls, his official announcement to 
 the Permanent Secretary. But what was he thinking 
 of? The Permanent Secretary was dead ! Would 
 Astier-Rehu be appointed before the vacation ? And 
 when would the election be ? He proceeded to con- 
 sider all the details, down to his coat. Should he 
 go to Astier's tailor now ? And did the tailor sup- 
 ply also the hat and sword ? 
 
 Pie Jesu, Domine, sang a voice behind the altar, 
 the swelling notes of an opera singer, asking repose 
 for Loisillon, whom it might be thought the Divine 
 Mercy had destined to special torment, for all 
 through the church, loud and soft, in every variety of 
 voice, solo and in unison, came the supplication for 
 ' repose, repose.' Ah, let him sleep quietly after his 
 many years of turmoil and intrigue ! The solemn 
 stirring chant was answered in the nave by women's 
 sobbing, above which rose the tragic convulsive gasp 
 of Marguerite Oger, the gasp so impressive in the
 
 154 ONE OF THE 'FORTY 
 
 fourth act of ' Musidora.' All this lamentation touched 
 the kind-hearted candidate and linked itself in his 
 feelings to other lamentations and other sorrows. He 
 thought of relatives who had died, and of his sister 
 who had been a mother to him, and who was now 
 given up by all the doctors, and knew it, and spoke 
 of it in every letter. Ah ! would she live even to 
 see the day of his success ? Tears blinded him, and 
 he was obliged to wipe his eyes. 
 
 ' Don't come it too strong, it won't seem genuine,' 
 said the sneering voice of fat Lavaux, grinning close 
 at his ear. He turned round angrily ; but here the 
 young officer gave at stentorian pitch the command 
 •Carry — arms!' and the bayonets rattled on the 
 muskets while the muffled tones of the organ rolled 
 out the 'Dead March.' The procession began to 
 form for leaving the church, headed as before by 
 Gazan, Laniboire, Desminieres, and Freydet's old 
 master, Astier-Rehu. They all looked superb now, 
 the parrot green of their laced coats being subdued 
 by the dim religious light of the lofty building as they 
 walked down the central aisle, two and two, slowly, 
 as if loth to reach the great square of daylight seen 
 through the open doors. Behind came the whole 
 Society, headed by its senior member, the wonder- 
 ful old Jean Rehu, looking taller than ever in a long 
 coat, and holding up the little brown head, carved,
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 155 
 
 one might fancy, out of a cocoa-nut, with an air of 
 contemptuous indifference telling that 'this was a 
 thing he had seen ' any number of times before. 
 Indeed in the course of the sixty years during which 
 he had been in receipt of the tallies of the Acad^mie, 
 he must have heard many such funeral chants, and 
 sprinkled much holy water on illustrious biers. 
 
 But if Jean Rehu was a ' deity,' whose miraculous 
 immortality justified the name, it could only be 
 applied in mockery to the band of patriarchs who 
 followed him. Decrepit, bent double, gnarled as old 
 apple trees, with feet of lead, limp legs, and blinking 
 owlish eyes, they stumbled along, either supported 
 on an arm or feeling their way with outstretched 
 hands ; and their names whispered by the crowd 
 recalled works long dead and forgotten. Beside such 
 ghosts as these, ' on furlough from the cemetery,' as 
 was remarked by a smart young soldier in the guard 
 of honour, the rest of the Academicians seemed young. 
 They posed and strutted before the delighted eyes of 
 the ladies, whose bright gleams reached them through 
 the black veils, the ranks of the crowd, and the 
 cloaks and knapsacks of the bewildered soldiers. 
 On this occasion again Freydet, bowing to two or 
 three 'future colleagues,' encountered cold or con- 
 temptuous smiles, like those which a man sees when 
 he dreams that his dearest friends have forgotten
 
 I5& ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 him. But he had not time to be depressed, being 
 caught and turned about by the double stream which 
 moved up the church and towards the door. 
 
 ' Well, my lord, you will have to be stirring now,' 
 was the advice of friendly Picheral, whispered in the 
 midst of the hubbub and the scraping of chairs. It 
 sent the candidate's blood tingling through his veins. 
 But just as he passed before the bier Danjou muttered, 
 without looking at him, as he handed him the holy- 
 water brush, ' Whatever you do, be quiet, and let 
 things slide.' His knees shook beneath him. Bestir 
 yourself ! Be quiet ! Which advice was he to take ? 
 Which was the best ? Doubtless his master, Astier, 
 would tell him, and he tried to reach him outside the 
 church. It was no easy task in the confusion of the 
 court, where they were forming the procession, and 
 lifting the coffin under its heap of countless wreaths. 
 Never was a scene more lively than this coming out 
 from the funeral into the brilliant daylight ; every- 
 where people were bowing and talking gossip quite 
 unconnected with the ceremony, while the bright 
 expression on every face showed the reaction after 
 a long hour's sitting still and listening to melancholy 
 music. Plans were made, meetings arranged ; the 
 hurrying stream of life, stopped for a brief while, 
 impatiently resumed its course, and poor Loisillon 
 was left far behind in the past to which he belonged.
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 157 
 
 ' At the Francais to-night, don't forget ; it's the 
 last Tuesday,' simpered Madame Ancelin, while Paul 
 said to Lavaux, ' Are you going to see it through ? ' 
 
 ' No ; I'm taking Madame Eviza home. ' 
 
 ' Then come to Keyser's at six. We shall want 
 freshening after the speeches.' 
 
 The mourning coaches were drawing up one after 
 the other, while the private carriages set off at a 
 trot. People were leaning out of all the windows in 
 the square, and over towards the Boulevard Saint- 
 Germain men standing on the stationary tramcars 
 showed tier after tier of heads rising in dark relief 
 against the blue sky. Freydet, dazzled by the sun, 
 tilted his hat over his eyes and looked at the crowd, 
 which reached as far as he could see. He felt 
 proud, transferring to the Aeademie the posthumous 
 glory which certainly could not be ascribed to the 
 author of the ' Journey in Val d'Andorre,' though 
 at the same time he was distressed at noticing that 
 his dear ' future colleagues ' obviously kept him at a 
 distance, became meditative when he drew near, or 
 turned away, making little groups to keep out the 
 intruder. And these were the very men who only 
 two days ago at Voisin's had said to him, ' When 
 are you going to join us ? ' But the heaviest blow 
 was the desertion of Astier-Rehu. 
 
 ' What a calamity, sir ! ' said Freydet, coming up
 
 }$8 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 to him and putting on a doleful expression for the 
 purpose of saying something sympathetic. Astier- 
 Rehu, standing by the hearse, made no answer, but 
 went on turning over the leaves of the oration he 
 would shortly have to deliver. ' What a calamity ! ' 
 repeated Freydet. 
 
 ' My dear Freydet, you are indecent,' said his 
 master, roughly, in a loud voice. And with one 
 harsh snap of the jaw he betook himself again to 
 his reading. 
 
 Indecent ! What did he mean ? The poor man 
 looked himself over, but could find no explanation of 
 the reproach. What was the matter ? What had he 
 done ? 
 
 For some minutes he was quite dazed. Vaguely 
 he saw the hearse start under its shaking pyramid of 
 flowers, with green coats at the four corners, more 
 green coats behind, then all the Society, and immedi- 
 ately following, but at a respectful distance, another 
 group, in which he found himself involved and carried 
 along he knew not how. Young men, old men, all 
 terribly gloomy and ' depressed, all marked on the 
 brow with the same deep furrow, set there by one 
 fixed idea, all expressing with their eyes the same 
 hatred and distrust of their neighbours. When he 
 had got over his discomfiture, and was able to 
 identify these persons, he recognised the faded, hope-
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 159 
 
 less face of old Moser, the candidate everlasting ; 
 the honest expression of Dalzon, the author of ' that 
 book/ who had failed at the last election ; and de 
 Saleles ! — and Guerineau ! — Why, they were the ' fish 
 in tow ' ! They were the men about whom the 
 Acade^mie 'does not trouble itself/ whom it leaves, 
 hanging on to a strong hook, to be drawn along in 
 the wake of the ship of fame. There they all were — 
 all of them, poor drowned fish! — some dead and 
 under the water ; others still struggling, turning up 
 sad and greedy eyes full of an eager craving, never to 
 be appeased. And while he vowed to himself to 
 avoid a similar fate, Abel de Freydet followed the 
 bait and dragged at the line, too firmly struck already 
 to get himself free. 
 
 Far away, along the line cleared for the proces- 
 sion, muffled drums alternated with the blast of 
 trumpets, bringing crowds of bystanders on the pave- 
 ment and heads to every window. Then the music 
 again took up the long-drawn strains of the Hero's 
 "March. In the presence of so impressive a tribute 
 as this national funeral, this proud protest on the 
 part of humanity, crushed and overcome by death 
 but decking defeat in magnificence, it was hard to 
 realise that all this pomp was for Loisillon, Permanent 
 Secretary of the Academie Franchise — for nothing, 
 servant to nothing.
 
 <60 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Every day between four and six, earliet of later 
 according to the time of year, Paul Astier came to 
 take his douche at Keyser's hydropathic establish- 
 ment at the top of the Faubourg Saint-Honor^ 
 Twenty minutes' fencing, boxing, or single-stick 
 followed by a bath and a cold douche ; then a little 
 halt at the flower-shop, as he came out, to have a 
 carnation stitched in his buttonhole ; then a constitu- 
 tional as far as the Arc de l'Etoile, Stenne and the 
 phaeton following close to the footway. Finally 
 came a turn in the Bois, where Paul, thanks to his 
 observance of fashionable hygiene, displayed a femi- 
 nine delicacy of colouring and a complexion rivalling 
 any lady's. By this visit to Keyser's he also saved 
 himself the trouble of reading the papers. Gossip 
 went on between one dressing-room and another, or 
 on the lounges of the fencing-room, where the visitors 
 sat in fencing dress or flannel dressing-gowns, or even 
 outside the doctor's door while awaiting the duuclie. 
 From clubs, drawing-rooms, the Chamber, the Bourse, 
 or the Palais de Justice came in the news of the day,
 
 ONE OF THE « FORTY * l6l 
 
 and there it was proclaimed freely in loud tones, to 
 the accompaniment of the clashing of swords and 
 sticks, shouts for the waiter, resounding slaps on bare 
 backs, creaking of wheel-chairs for rheumatic patients, 
 heavy plunges re-echoing under the reverberating 
 roof of the swimming-bath, while above the various 
 sounds of splashing and spurting water rose the voice 
 of worthy Dr. Keyser, standing on his platform, and 
 the ever-recurring burden, ' Turn round.' 
 
 On this occasion Paul Astier was ' turning round ' 
 under the refreshing shower with great enjoyment ; 
 he was getting rid of the dust and fatigue of his 
 wearisome afternoon, as well as of the lugubrious 
 sonorities of Astier-Rehu's Academic regret. 'His 
 hour sounded upon the bell' ... 'the hand of 
 Loisillon was cold ' . . . 'he had drained the cup of 
 happiness' . . . &c, &c. Oh Master! Master! oh, 
 respected papa ! It took a good deal of water, 
 showers, streams, floods of it, to wash off all that grimy 
 rubbish. As he went away with the water running 
 off him, he passed a tall figure bent double, coming 
 up from the swimming bath, which gave him a shiver- 
 ing nod from under a huge gutta-percha cap covering 
 the head and half the face. The man's lean pallor 
 and stiff stooping walk made Paul take him for 
 one of the poor invalids who attend the establishment 
 regularly, and whose apparition, silent as night-birds^ 
 
 M
 
 1 62 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 in the fencing-room where they come to be weighed, 
 contrasts so strangely with the healthy laughter and 
 superabundant vigour of the rest of the company. 
 But the contemptuous curve of the large nose and 
 the weary lines round the mouth vaguely recalled 
 some face he knew in society. In his dressing-room 
 he asked the man who was shampooing him, 
 1 Who was that, Raymond, who bowed to me just 
 now?' 
 
 'Why, that's the Prince d'Athis, sir,' replied 
 Raymond, with a plebeian's satisfaction in uttering 
 the word ' prince.' ' He has been taking douches for 
 some time past, and generally comes in the morning. 
 But he is later to-day, on account of a burial, so he 
 told Joseph.' 
 
 The door of Paul's dressing-room was partly open 
 during this dialogue, and in the room on the opposite 
 side of the passage was visible Lavaux. As he pulled 
 on and buckled his long clerical hose, he said, ' I say, 
 Paul, did you see Sammy coming to freshen himself 
 up a bit?' 
 
 « Freshen himself up ? ' said Paul. ' What for ? ' 
 ' He's going to be married in a fortnight, you 
 know.' 
 
 ' Oh ! And when does he go to his Embassy ? ' 
 ' Why, now, at once. The Princess has started. 
 They are to be married out there.'
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 163 
 
 Paul had a horrid presentiment. ' The Princess ? ' 
 he asked. ' Whom is he going to marry ? ' 
 
 ' Where have you been ? It's been the talk of 
 Paris for the last two days ! Colette, of course ; 
 Colette the inconsolable. I should like to see what 
 the Duchess looks like. At the Loisillon affair she 
 carried herself well, but never lifted her veil or spoke 
 a word. It's a tough bit to swallow, eh ? When 
 you think that only yesterday I was helping her to 
 choose materials for the room he was to have at St. 
 Petersburg ! ' 
 
 The ill-natured unctuous voice of the fashionable 
 scandalmonger went on with the story as he finished 
 buckling his garters, accompanied by the sound of a 
 douche two boxes off, and the Prince's voice saying, 
 ' Harder, Joseph, harder, don't be afraid.' Freshening 
 himself up, was he ? 
 
 Paul had crossed the passage as soon as Lavaux 
 began to talk, that he might hear better. He was 
 seized with a wild desire to kick in the door of the 
 Prince's room, spring on him, and have an explanation 
 face to face with the scoundrel who was stealing the 
 fortune almost in his grasp. Suddenly he perceived 
 that he had nothing on, reflected that his wrath was 
 ill-timed, and went back to his room, where he calmed 
 down a little as he realised that the first thing to do 
 
 M2
 
 164 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 was to have a talk with his mother and find out 
 exactly how matters stood. 
 
 That afternoon, for once, he had no flower in his 
 buttonhole, and while, as the stream of carriages went 
 past, the ladies looked languidly for the charming 
 young man in the usual row, he was driving rapidly 
 to the Rue de Beaune. There he was greeted by 
 Corentine with bare arms and a dirty apron. She 
 had taken the opportunity of her mistress's absence 
 to have a great clean-up. 
 
 ' Do you know where my mother is dining ? ' 
 
 No, her mistress had not told her. But the 
 master was upstairs, rummaging in his papers. The 
 little staircase leading to the paper-room creaked 
 under Leonard Astier's heavy tread. 
 
 ' Is that you, Paul ?' he asked. 
 
 The dim light of the passage and his own agita- 
 tion prevented the young man from noticing his 
 father's extraordinary appearance and the dazed 
 sound of his voice when he answered. 
 
 • How's the Master ? ' said the son — ' So mamma's 
 not in ? ' 
 
 'No, she is dining with Madame Ancelin and 
 going on to the Frangais ; I am to join them in the 
 evening.' 
 
 After this the father and son had nothing further 
 to say to each other. They met like two strangers,
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 165 
 
 like two men of hostile races. On this occasion, 
 indeed, Paul in his impatience was half inclined to 
 ask Leonard whether he knew anything about the 
 marriage ; but he thought the next minute, ' No, he 
 is too stupid ; mother would never say a word to 
 him.' His father, who was also strongly tempted to 
 put a question, called him back with an air of em- 
 barrassment. 
 
 ' Paul,' he said, ' I have lost — I can't find ' 
 
 ' Can't find what ? ' asked the son. 
 
 Astier-Rehu hesitated a moment ; but after look- 
 ing closely at the pretty face, whose expression, on 
 account of the bend in the nose, was never perfectly 
 straightforward, he added in a gloomy, surly tone — 
 
 ' No, nothing ; it does not matter. I won't keep 
 you.' 
 
 There was nothing for it but to meet his mother 
 at the theatre in Madame Ancelin's box. That meant 
 two or three hours to be got through first. Paul 
 dismissed his carriage and ordered Stenne to bring 
 him his dress things at his club. Then he started 
 for a stroll through the city in a faint twilight, while 
 the clipped shrubs of the Tuileries Gardens assumed 
 brighter colours as the sky grew dark around them. 
 It was the mystic hour so precious to people pursuing 
 dreams or making plans. The carriages grow fewer, 
 the shadowy figures hurry by and touch the stroller
 
 166 ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 
 
 lightly. There is no interruption to the flow of a 
 man's thoughts. So the ambitious young fellow, who 
 had quite recovered his presence of mind, carried on 
 his reflections clearly. His thoughts were like those 
 of Napoleon at the last hour of the battle of Water- 
 loo : after a long day of success defeat had come 
 with night. What was the reason ? What mistake 
 had he made ? He replaced the pieces on the chess- 
 board, and looked for the explanation of failure, but 
 in vain. It had perhaps been rash of him to let two 
 days pass without seeing her. But it was the most 
 elementary rule that after such a scene as that in 
 the cemetery a woman should be left to herself to 
 recover. How was he to foresee this sudden flight ? 
 Suddenly a hope flashed upon him. He knew that 
 the Princess changed her plan as often as a bird its 
 perch. Perhaps she might not yet have gone ; per- 
 haps he should find her in the midst of preparations, 
 unhappy, undecided, asking Herbert's portrait for 
 advice, and should win her back by one embrace. 
 He understood and could follow now all the capri- 
 cious turns of the romance which had been going 
 on in her little head. 
 
 He took a cab to the Rue de Courcelles. Nobody 
 there. The Princess had gone abroad, they told him, 
 that very morning. A terrible fit of despair came 
 over him, and he went home instead of to the club,
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 1 67 
 
 so as not to have to talk and answer questions. 
 His spirits sank even lower at the sight of his great 
 mediaeval erection and its front, in the style of the 
 Tour de la Faint, all covered with bills ; it suggested 
 the piles of overdue accounts. As he felt his way 
 in, he was greeted by a smell of fried onions filling 
 the whole place ; for his spruce little valet on nights 
 when his master dined at the club would cook him- 
 self a tasty dish. A gleam of daylight still lingered 
 in the studio, and Paul flung himself down on a 
 sofa. There, as he was trying to think by what ill- 
 luck his artfullest, cleverest designs had been upset, 
 he fell asleep for a couple of hours and woke up 
 another man. Just as memory gains in sharpness 
 during the sleep of the body, so had his determina- 
 tion and talent for intrigue gone on acting during his 
 short rest. He had found a new plan, and moreover 
 a calm fixity of resolution, such as among the modern 
 youth of France is very much more rarely met with 
 than courage under arms. 
 
 He dressed rapidly and took a couple of eggs and 
 a cup of tea ; and when, with a faint odour of the 
 warm curling-iron about his beard and moustaches, 
 he entered the Theatre Frangais and gave Madame 
 Ancelin's name at the box-office, the keenest observer 
 would have failed to detect any absorbing preoccu- 
 pation in the perfect gentleman of fashion, and would
 
 1 65 ©NE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 never have guessed the contents of this pretty 
 drawing-room article, black-and-white lacquered, and 
 well locked. 
 
 Madame Ancelin's worship of official literature 
 had two temples, the Academie Frangaise and the 
 Comedie Franchise. But the first of these places 
 being open to the pious believer only at uncertain 
 periods, she made the most of the second, and 
 attended its services with great regularity. She 
 never missed a ' first night/ whether important or 
 unimportant, nor any of the Subscribers' Tuesdays. 
 And as she read no books but those stamped with 
 the hall-mark of the Academie, so the actors at the 
 Comedie were the only players to whom she listened 
 with enthusiasm, with excited ejaculations and rap- 
 turous amazement. Her exclamations began at the 
 box-office, at the sight of the two great marble fonts, 
 which the good lady's fancy had set up before the 
 statues of Rachel and Talma in the entrance to the 
 ' House of Moliere.' 
 
 ' Don't they look after it well ? Just look at the 
 door-keepers ! What a theatre it is ! ' 
 
 The jerky movements of her short arms and the 
 puffing of her fat little body diffused through the 
 passage a sense of noisy gleefulness which made 
 people say in every box, ' Here's Madame Ancelin ! ' 
 On Tuesdays especially, the fashionable indifference
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 169 
 
 of the house contrasted oddly with the seat where, in 
 supreme content, leaning half out of the box, sat 
 and cooed this good plump pink-eyed pigeon, piping 
 away audibly, ' Look at Coquelin ! Look at De- 
 launay ! What perennial youth ! What an admir- 
 able theatre ! ' She never allowed her friends to 
 talk of anything else, and in the entr'actes greeted 
 her visitors with exclamations of rapture over the 
 genius of the Academic playwright and the grace of 
 the Actress-Associate. 
 
 At Paul Astier's entrance the curtain was up ; 
 and knowing that the ritual of Madame Ancelin re- 
 quired absolute silence at such a time, he waited 
 quietly in the little room, separated by a step from 
 the front of the box, where Madame Ancelin was 
 seated in bliss between Madame Astier and Madame 
 Eviza, while behind were Danjou and De Freydet 
 looking like prisoners. The click, which the box -door 
 made and must make in shutting, was followed by a 
 ' Hush ! ' calculated to appai the intruder who was 
 disturbing the service. Madame Astier half turned 
 round, and felt a shiver at the sight of her son. What 
 was the matter ? What had Paul to say to her of 
 such pressing importance as to bring him to that 
 haunt of boredom — Paul, who never let himself be 
 bored without a reason ? Money again, no doubt, 
 horrid money ! Well, fortunately she would soon
 
 I70 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 have plenty ; Sammy's marriage would make them 
 all rich. Much as she longed to go up to Paul and 
 reassure him with the good news, which perhaps he 
 had not heard, she was obliged to stay in her seat, 
 look on at the play, and join as chorus in her hostess's 
 exclamations, ' Look at Coquelin ! Look at De- 
 launay ! Oh ! Oh ! ' It was a hard trial to her to 
 have to wait. So it was to Paul, who could see 
 nothing but the glaring heat of the footlights, and 
 in the looking-glass at the side the reflection of part 
 of the house, stalls, dress-circle, boxes, rows of faces, 
 pretty dresses, bonnets, all as it were drowned in 
 a blue haze, and presenting the colourless ghostly 
 appearance of things dimly seen under water. During 
 the entr'acte came the usual infliction of indiscrimi- 
 nate praise. 
 
 Monsieur Paul ! Di' y' see Reichemberg's dress ? 
 Di' y' see the pink-bead apron? and the ribbon 
 ruching ? Di' y' see ? This is the only place where 
 they know how to dress, that it is ! ' 
 
 Visitors began to come, and the mother was able 
 to get hold of her son and carry him off to the sofa. 
 There, in the midst of wraps and the bustle of people 
 going out, they spoke in low voices with their heads 
 close together. 
 
 ' Answer me quickly and clearly,' began Paul. 
 * Is Sammy going to be married ? '
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 171 
 
 ' Yes, the Duchess heard yesterday. But she has 
 come here to-night all the same. Corsican pride ! ' 
 
 ' And whom has he caught ? Can you tell me 
 now? ' 
 
 • Why, Colette, of course ! You must have had a 
 suspicion.' 
 
 ' Not the least,' said Paul. ' And what shall you 
 get for it ? ' 
 
 She murmured triumphantly, ' Eight thousand 
 pounds ! ' 
 
 ' Well, by your schemes I have lost a million ! — : 
 a million, and a wife ! ' He grasped her by the wrists 
 in his anger, and hissed into her face, 'You selfish 
 marplot ! ' 
 
 The news took away her breath and her senses. 
 It was Paul then, Paul, from whom proceeded the 
 force which acted, as she had occasionally perceived, 
 against her influence ; it was Paul whom the little 
 fool was thinking of when she said, sobbing in her 
 arms, ' If you only knew ! ' And now, just at the 
 end of the mines which with so much cunning and 
 skilful patience they had each been driving towards 
 the treasure, one last stroke of the axe had brought 
 them face to face, empty-handed ! They sat silent, 
 looking at each other, with corresponding crooks in 
 their noses and the same fierce gleam in both pairs 
 of grey eyes, while all around them were the stir of
 
 172 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 people coming and going and the buzz of conver- 
 sation. Rigid indeed is the discipline of society, 
 seeing that it could repress in these two creatures all 
 the cries and groans, all the desire to roar and slay, 
 which filled and shook their hearts. Madame Astier 
 was the first to express her thoughts aloud : 
 
 ' If only the Princess were not gone ! ' 
 
 And she writhed her lips with rage at the thought 
 that the sudden departure had been her own sug- 
 gestion. 
 
 ' We will get her back,' said Paul. 
 
 ' How ? ' 
 
 Without answering her question, he asked, ' Is 
 Sammy here to-night?' 
 
 ' Oh, I don't think so, as she is Where are 
 
 you going ? what do you mean to do ?' 
 
 ' Keep quiet, won't you ? Don't interfere. You 
 are too unlucky for me.' 
 
 He left with a crowd of visitors who were driven 
 away by the end of the entr'acte, and she went back 
 to her seat on Madame Ancelin's left. Her hostess 
 worshipped with the same ecstasy as before, and it 
 was one perpetual giving of thanks. 
 
 ' Oh, look at Coquelin ! What humour he has ! 
 My dear, do look at him ! ' 
 
 * My dear ' was indeed not attending ; her eyes 
 wandered, and on her lips was the painful smile of a
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 173 
 
 dancer hissed off the boards. With the excuse that 
 the footlights dazzled her, she was turning every 
 moment towards the audience to look for her son. 
 Perhaps there would be a duel with the Prince, if he 
 was there. And all her fault — all through her stupid 
 bungling. 
 
 4 Ah, there's Delaunay! Di' y' see him? Di' y' 
 see?' 
 
 No, she had seen nothing but the Duchess's box, 
 where some one had just come in, with a youthful 
 elegant figure, like her Paul. But it was the little 
 Count Adriani, who had heard of the rupture like 
 the rest of Paris and was already tracking the game. 
 Through the rest of the play the mother ate her 
 heart out in misery, turning over innumerable con- 
 fused plans for the future, mixed in her thoughts with 
 past events and scenes which ought to have fore- 
 warned her. Stupid, how stupid of her ! How had 
 she failed to guess? 
 
 At last came the departure, but oh how long it 
 took ! She had to stop every moment, to bow or 
 smile to her friends, to say good-bye. 'What are 
 you going to do this summer ? Do come and see 
 us at Deauville.' All down the narrow passage 
 crammed with people, where ladies finish putting on 
 their wraps with a pretty movement to make sure 
 of their ear-rings, all dewn the white marble staircase
 
 174 ONE of THE 'forty' 
 
 to the men-servants waiting at the foot, the mother, 
 as she talks, still watches, listens, tries to catch in 
 the hum of the great fashionable swarm dispersing 
 for some months a word or hint of a scene that 
 evening in a box. Here comes the Duchess, haughty 
 and erect in her long white and gold mantle, taking 
 the arm of the young officer of the Papal Guard. 
 She knows the shabby trick her friend has played 
 her, and as the two women pass they exchange a 
 cold expressionless glance more to be dreaded than 
 the most violent expletive of a fishwoman. They 
 know now what to think of each other ; they know 
 that in the poisoned warfare, which is to succeed 
 their sisterly intimacy, every blow will tell, will be 
 directed to the right spot by practised hands. But 
 they discharge the task imposed by society, and both 
 wear the same mask of indifference, so that the 
 masterful hate of the one can meet and strike against 
 the spiteful hate of the other without producing a 
 spark. 
 
 Downstairs, in the press of valets and young 
 clubmen, Leonard Astier was waiting, as he had 
 promised, for his wife. ' Ah, there is the great man ! ' 
 exclaimed Madame Ancelin ; and with a final dip of 
 her fingers into the holy water she scattered it 
 around her broadcast, over the great Astier-Rehu, 
 the great Danjou, and Coquelin, you know ! and
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 175 
 
 Delaunay, you know ! Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! — Astier did 
 not reply, but followed with his wife on his arm and 
 his collar turned up against the draught. It was 
 raining. Madame Ancelin offered to take them home; 
 but it was only with the conventional politeness of 
 a ' carriage ' lady afraid of tiring her horses and 
 still more afraid of her coachman's temper (she has 
 invariably the best coachman in Paris). Besides, ' the 
 great man ' had a cab ; and without waiting for the 
 lady's benediction— 'Ah, well, we know you two like 
 to be alone. Ah! what a happy household !' -he 
 dragged off Madame Astier along the wet and dirty 
 colonnade. 
 
 When, at the end of a ball or evening party, a 
 fashionable couple drive off in their carriage, the 
 question always suggests itself, ' Now what will they 
 say ? ' Not much usually, for the man generally 
 comes away from this kind of festivity weary and 
 knocked up, while the lady continues the party in 
 the darkness of the carriage by inward comparisons 
 of her dress and her looks with those she has just 
 seen, and makes plans for the arrangement of her 
 drawing-room or a new costume. Still the restraint 
 of feature required by society is so excessive, and 
 fashionable hypocrisy has reached such a height, that 
 it would be interesting to be present at the moment 
 when the conventional attitude is relaxed, to hear the
 
 17^ ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 
 
 real natural tone of voice, and to realise the actual 
 relations of the beings thus suddenly released from 
 trammels and sent rolling home in the light of their 
 brougham lamps through the empty streets of Paris. 
 In the case of the Astiers the return home was 
 very characteristic. The moment they were alone 
 the wife laid aside the deference and pretended 
 interest exhibited towards the Master in society, and 
 spoke her mind, compensating herself in so doing for 
 the attention with which she had listened for the 
 hundredth time to old stories which bored her to 
 death. The husband, kindly by disposition and 
 accustomed to think well of himself and everyone 
 else, invariably came home in a state of bliss, and 
 was horrified at the malicious comments of his wife 
 on their hosts and the guests they had met. Madame 
 Astier would utter calmly the most shocking accusa- 
 tions, exaggerating gossip in the light unconscious 
 way which is characteristic of Parisian society. 
 Rather than stimulate her he would hold his tongue 
 and turn round in his corner to take a little doze. 
 But on this evening Leonard sat down straight, 
 regardless of the sharp ' Do mind my dress ! ' which 
 showed that somebody's skirts were being crumpled. 
 What did he care about her dress ? ' I've been 
 robbed ! ' he said, in such a tone that the windows 
 rattled.
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 1 77 
 
 Oh dear, the autographs ! She had not been 
 thinking of them, least of all just now, when tor- 
 mented by very different anxieties, and there was 
 nothing feigned in her surprise. 
 
 Robbed — yes, robbed of his ' Charles-the-Fifths,' 
 the three best things in his collection ! But the as- 
 surance which made his attack so violent died out 
 of his voice, and his suspicion hesitated, at the sight 
 of Adelaide's surprise. Meanwhile she recovered 
 her self-possession. ' But whom do you suspect ? ' 
 Corentine, she thought, was trustworthy. Teyssedre? 
 It was hardly likely that an ignorant 
 
 Teyssedre ! He exclaimed at it, the thing seemed 
 so obvious. Helped by his hatred for the man of 
 polish, he soon began to see how the crime had come 
 about, and traced it step by step from a chance 
 allusion at dinner to the value of his documents, 
 heard by Corentine and repeated in all innocence. 
 Ah, the scoundrel ! Why, he had the skull of a 
 criminal ! Foolish to struggle against the intima- 
 tions of instinct ! There must be something out of 
 the common, when a floor-polisher could arouse so 
 strange an antipathy in a member of the Institute ! 
 Ah, well, the dolt was done for now ! He should 
 catch it ! ' My three Charleses ! Only fancy ! ' He 
 wanted to inform the police at once, before going 
 home. His wife tried to prevent him. 'Are you 
 
 N
 
 178 ONE OF THE ( FORTY ' 
 
 out of your mind ? Go to the police-station after 
 midnight ? ' But he insisted, and thrust his great 
 numskull out into the rain to give orders to the 
 driver. She was obliged to pull him back with an 
 effort, and feeling too much exhausted to carry 
 on the lie, to let him say his say and bring him 
 round gradually, she came out with the whole 
 truth. 
 
 'It's not Teyssedre — it's I! There!' At one 
 breath she poured out the story of her visit to Bos, 
 the money she had got, the 800/., and the neces- 
 sity for it. The silence which ensued was so long 
 that at first she thought he had had a fit of apoplexy. 
 It was not that ; but like a child that falls or hits 
 itself, poor Crocodilus had opened his mouth so wide 
 to let out his anger, and taken so deep a breath, that 
 he could not utter a sound. At last came a roar 
 that filled the Carrousel, where their cab was at that 
 minute splashing through the pools. 
 
 ' Robbed, robbed ! Robbed by my wife for the 
 sake of her son ! ' In his insane fury he jumbled 
 together indiscriminately the abusive patois of his 
 native hillside, 'Ah la gar so ! Ah li bougri!* with 
 the classical exclamations of Harpagon bewailing his 
 casket. Justice, justice du ciel ! ' and other select ex- 
 tracts often recited to his pupils. It was as light as 
 day in the bright rays of the tall electric lamps
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 1 79 
 
 standing round the great square, over which, as the 
 theatres were emptying, omnibuses and carriages 
 were now passing in all directions. 
 
 'Do be quiet,' said Madame Astier; 'everyone 
 knows you.' 
 
 ' Except you, Madame ! ' 
 
 She thought he was going to beat her, and in the 
 strained condition of her nerves it might perhaps 
 have been a relief. But under the terror of a scandal 
 he suddenly quieted down, swearing finally by his 
 mother's ashes that as soon as he got home he would 
 pack up his trunk and go straight off to Sauvagnat, 
 leaving his wife to depart with her scoundrelly pro- 
 digal and live on their spoils. 
 
 Once more the deep old box with its big nails 
 was brought hastily from the anteroom into the 
 study. A few billets of wood were still left in it 
 from the winter's supply, but the 'deity' did not 
 change his purpose for that. For an hour the house 
 resounded with the rolling of logs and the banging 
 of cupboard doors, as he flung among the sawdust 
 and bits of dry bark linen, clothes, boots, and even 
 the green coat and embroidered waistcoat of the 
 Academic full dress, carefully put away in napkins. 
 His wrath was relieved by this operation, and 
 diminished as he filled his trunk, till his last resentful 
 grumblings died away when it occurred to him that, 
 
 M2
 
 180 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 fixed as he was to his place, to uproot himself was 
 utterly impossible. Meanwhile Madame Astier, sit- 
 ting on the edge of an armchair in her dressing- 
 gown, with a lace wrap round her head, watched his 
 proceedings and murmured between yawn and yawn 
 with placid irony, « Really, Leonard, really ! '
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' l8l 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ' My notion is that people, like things, have a right 
 and a wrong way up, and there's always a place to get 
 hold of, if you want to have a good control and grasp 
 of them. I know where the place is, and that's my 
 power ! Driver, to the Tete Noire.' At Paul Astier's 
 order the open carriage/in which the three tall hats 
 belonging to Freydet, Vedrine, and himself rose in 
 funereal outline against the brightness of the after- 
 noon landscape, drew up on the right-hand side of 
 the bridge at St. Cloud, in front of the inn he had 
 named. Every jolt of the hired conveyance over the 
 paving of the square brought into sight an ominous 
 long case of green baize projecting beyond the 
 lowered hood of the carriage. Paul had chosen, as 
 seconds for this meeting with D'Athis, first the 
 Vicomte de Freydet, on account of his title and his 
 ' de,' and with him the Count Adriani. But the Papal 
 Embassy was afraid of adding another scandal to the 
 recent affair of the Cardinal's hat, and he had been 
 obliged to find a substitute for Pepino in the sculptor, 
 who would perhaps allow himself at the last minute
 
 1 82 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 to be described in the official statement as ' Marquis.' 
 The matter, however, was not supposed to be serious, 
 only a quarrel at the club over the card-table, 
 where the Prince had taken a hand for a last game 
 before leaving Paris. The affair could not be hushed 
 up ; it was specially impossible to cave in to a fight- 
 ing man like Paul Astier, who had a great reputation 
 in fencing rooms, and whose records were framed and 
 hung in the shooting-gallery in the Avenue d'Antin. 
 
 While the carriage waited by the terrace of the 
 restaurant, and the waiters unobtrusively bestowed on 
 it knowing glances, down a steep little path came 
 rolling a short, fat man, with the white spats, white 
 tie, silk hat, and captivating air of the doctor of a 
 fashionable watering-place. He made signals from 
 the distance with his sunshade. 'There's Gomes,' 
 said Paul. Doctor Gomes, formerly on the resident 
 staff of one of the Paris hospitals, had been ruined by 
 play and an old attachment. Now he was ' Uncle 
 Gomes,' and had an irregular practice ; not a bad 
 fellow, but one who would stick at nothing, and had 
 made a specialty of affairs like the present. Fee, 
 two guineas and breakfast. Just now he was spend- 
 ing his holiday with Cloclo at Ville d'Avray, and came 
 puffing to the meeting place, carrying a little bag 
 which held his instrument case, medicines, bandages, 
 splints — enough to set up an ambulance.
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 1 83 
 
 ' Is it to be scratch or wound ? ' he asked, as he 
 took his seat in the carriage opposite Paul. 
 
 ' Scratch, of course, doctor, scratch, with swords of 
 the Institute. The Acadcmie Franchise against the 
 Sciences Morales et Politiques.' 
 
 Gomes smiled as he steadied his bag between his 
 knees. 
 
 ( I did not know, so I brought the big apparatus.' 
 
 'Well, you must display it ; it will impress the 
 enemy,' suggested Vedrine, in his quiet way. 
 
 The doctor winked, a little put out by the two 
 seconds, whose faces were unknown to the boulevards, 
 and to whom Paul Astier, who treated him like a 
 servant, did not even introduce him. 
 
 As the carriage started, the window of a room on 
 the first floor opened, and a pair came and looked at 
 them curiously. The girl was Marie Donval, of the 
 Gymnase, whom the doctor recognised and named 
 in a loud voice. The other was a deformed little 
 creature, whose head was barely visible above the 
 window-sill. Freydet, with much indignation, and 
 Vedrine, with some amusement, recognised Fage. 
 
 ' Are you surprised, M. de Freydet ? ' said Paul. 
 And hereupon he launched into a savage attack upon 
 woman. Woman ! A disordered child, with all a 
 child's perversity and wickedness, all its instinctive 
 desire to cheat, to lie, to tease, all its cowardice. She
 
 1 84 ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 
 
 was greedy, she was vain, she was inquisitive. Oh 
 yes, she could serve you a hash of somebody else, 
 but she had not an idea of her own ; and in argu- 
 ment, why, she was as full of holes, twists, and slippery 
 places as the pavement on a frosty night after a 
 thaw. How was conversation possible with a woman ? 
 Why, there was nothing in her, neither kindness nor 
 pity nor intellect — not even common sense. For a 
 fashionable bonnet or one of Spricht's gowns she 
 was capable of stealing, of any trick however dirty ; 
 for at bottom the only thing she cares for is dress. 
 To know the strength of this passion a man must 
 have gone, as Paul had, with the most elegant ladies 
 of fashion to the rooms of the great man-milliner. 
 They were hand-and-glove with the forewomen, 
 asked them to breakfast at their country houses, 
 knelt to old Spricht as if he were the Pope him- 
 self. The Marquise de Roca-Nera took her young 
 daughters to him, and all but asked him to bless 
 them ! 
 
 ' Just so,' said the doctor, with the automatic jerk 
 of a hireling whose neck has been put out of joint by 
 perpetual acquiescence. Then followed an awkward 
 pause, the conversation being, as it were, thrown out 
 of gear by this sudden and unexpectedly violent 
 effusion from a young fellow usually very civil and 
 self-possessed. The sun was oppressive, and was
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 185 
 
 reflected off the dry stone walls on each side of the 
 steep road, up which the horses were toiling painfully, 
 while the pebbles creaked under the wheels. 
 
 ' To show the kindness and pity of woman, I can 
 vouch for the following.' It was Vedrine who spoke, 
 his head thrown back and swaying as it rested on the 
 hood of the carriage, his eyes half shut as he looked 
 at some inward vision. ' It was not at the great 
 milliner's. It was at the Hotel-Dieu, in Bouchereau's 
 department. A rough, white-washed cell, an iron 
 bedstead with all the clothes thrown off, and on it, 
 stark naked, covered with sweat and foam, contorted 
 and twisted like a clown with sudden springs and with 
 yells that re-echoed through the fore-court of Notre 
 Dame, a madman in the last agony. Beside the bed 
 two women, one on either side, the Sister, and one of 
 Bouchereau's little lady-students, both quite young, 
 yet with no disgust and no fear, both leaning over 
 the poor wretch whom no one dared go near, wiping 
 from his brow and mouth the sweat of his agony 
 and the suffocating foam. The Sister was pray- 
 ing all the time ; the other was not. But in the 
 inspired look in the eyes of both, in the gentleness of 
 the brave little hands which wiped away the mad- 
 man's foam right from under his teeth, in the heroic 
 and maternal beauty of their unwearied movements, 
 you felt that they were both very women. There is
 
 1 86 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 woman ! It was enough to make a man fall on his 
 knees and sob.' 
 
 'Thank you, Vedrine,' said Freydet under his 
 breath ; he had been choking with the recollection 
 of the dear one at Clos Jallanges. The doctor began 
 his jerk and his ' just so,' but was cut short by the 
 dry, incisive tones of Paul Astier. 
 
 ' Oh yes, sick nurses, I'll allow. Sickly themselves, 
 nothing gives them such pleasure as nursing, dressing, 
 bathing their patients, handling hot towels and basins ; 
 and then there's the power they exercise over the 
 suffering and the weak.' His voice hissed and rose 
 to the pitch of his mother's, while from his cold eye 
 darted a little gleam of wickedness which made his 
 companions wonder ' what is up,' and suggested to 
 the doctor the sage reflection, ' All very well to 
 talk about a scratch, and swords of the Institute, 
 but I should not care to be in the Prince's 
 skin.' 
 
 ' Now I'll paint you a pendant to our friend's 
 chromo,' sneered Paul. ' As a specimen of feminine 
 delicacy and faithfulness, take a little widow, who 
 even in the burial vault of the departed, and on his 
 very tombstone ' 
 
 ' The EpJiesian Matron ! ' broke in Vedrine, ' you 
 want to tell us that ! ' The discussion grew animated 
 and ran on, still to an accompaniment of the jolting
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 1 87 
 
 wheels, upon the never-failing topics of masculine 
 discussion, woman and love. 
 
 ' Gentlemen, look,' said the doctor, who from his 
 place on the front seat saw two carriages coming up 
 the hill at a quick trot. In the first, an open victoria, 
 were the Prince's seconds. Gomes stood up, and as 
 he sat down again named them in a low and respectful 
 tone, 'the Marquis d'Urbin and General de Bonneuil of 
 the Jockey Club — very good form — and my brother- 
 surgeon, Aubouis.' This Doctor Aubouis was 
 another low-caste of the same stamp as Gomes ; 
 but as he had a ribbon his fee was five guineas. 
 Behind was a little brougham in which, along with 
 the inseparable Lavaux, was concealed D'Athis, de- 
 sperately bored with the whole business. During five 
 minutes the three vehicles went up the hill one behind 
 another like a wedding or funeral procession, and 
 nothing was heard but the sound of the wheels and 
 the panting or snorting of the horses as they rattled 
 their bits. 
 
 ' Pass them,' said a haughty nasal voice. 
 
 ' By all means,' said Paul, ' they are going to see to 
 our quarters.' The wheels grazed on the narrow road, 
 the seconds bowed, the doctors exchanged professional 
 smiles. Then the brougham went by, showing behind 
 the window glass, pulled up in spite of the heat, a 
 morose motionless profile, as pale as a corpse. ' He
 
 1 88 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 won't be paler than that an hour hence, when they 
 take him home with a hole in his side/ thought Paul, 
 and he pictured the exact thrust, feint No. 2, followed 
 by a direct lunge straight in between the third and 
 fourth ribs. 
 
 At the top of the hill the air was cooler, and laden 
 with the scent of lime-flowers, acacias, and roses warm 
 in the sun. Behind the low park railings sloped 
 great lawns over which moved the mottled shadows 
 of the trees. Presently was heard the bell of a 
 garden gate. 
 
 1 Here we are,' said the doctor, who knew the 
 place. It was where the Marquis d'Urbin's stud 
 used to be, but for the last two years it had been for 
 sale. All the horses were gone, except a few colts 
 gambolling about in fields separated by high barriers. 
 
 The duel was to take place at the further end of 
 the estate, on a wide terrace in front of a white brick 
 stable. It was reached by sloping paths all over- 
 grown with moss and grass, along which both parties 
 walked together, mingling, but not speaking, proper 
 as could be ; except that Vedrine, unable to support 
 these fashionable formalities, scandalised Freydet, who 
 carried his high collar with much gravity, by exclaim- 
 ing, ' Here's a lily of the valley,' or pulling off a 
 bough, and presently, struck with the contrast 
 between the splendid passivity of nature and the
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 1 89 
 
 futile activity of man, ejaculated, as he gazed on the 
 great woods that climbed the opposite hill-side, and 
 the distance composed of clustered roofs, shining 
 water and blue haze, ' How beautiful, how peaceful ! ' 
 With an involuntary movement he pointed to the ho- 
 rizon, for the benefit of some one whose patent leather 
 boots came squeaking behind him. But oh, what an 
 outpouring of contempt, not only upon the improper 
 Vedrine, but upon the landscape and the sky ! The 
 Prince d'Athis was unsurpassed in contempt. He 
 expressed it with his eye, the celebrated eye whose 
 flash had always overcome Bismarck ; he expressed it 
 with his great hooked nose, and with the turned down 
 corners of his mouth ; he expressed it without reason, 
 without inquiry, study, or thought, and his rise in 
 diplomacy, his successes in love and in society, were 
 all the work of this supposed contempt ! 
 
 In reality ' Sammy ' was an empty-headed bauble, 
 a puppet picked by a clever woman's compassion out 
 of the refuse and oyster shells of the supper-tavern, 
 raised by her higher and higher, prompted by her 
 what to say and, more important still, what not to 
 say, lessoned and guided by her, till the day when, 
 finding himself at the top of the ladder, he kicked 
 away the stool which he no longer wanted. Society 
 thought him a very clever fellow, but Vedrine did not 
 share the general opinion ; and the comparison of
 
 190 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 Talleyrand to a ' silk stocking full of mud ' came into 
 his mind as he watched this highly respectable and 
 proper personage stalk majestically past him. Evi- 
 dently the Duchess had her wits about her when she 
 disguised his emptiness by making him both diplo- 
 matist and academician, and cloaking him for the 
 official carnival with the double thickness of both the 
 two thread-bare, though venerable, dominos, to which 
 society continues to bow. But how she could have 
 loved such a hollow, stony-hearted piece of crockery, 
 Vedrine did not understand. Was it his title ? But 
 her family was as good as his. Was it the English 
 cut of his clothes, the frock coat closely fitted to his 
 broken-down shoulders, and the mud-coloured trousers 
 that made so crude a bit of colour among the trees ? 
 One might almost think that the young villain, Paul, 
 was right in his contemptuous remarks on woman's 
 taste for what is low, for deformity in morals or 
 physique ! 
 
 The Prince had reached the three-foot fence which 
 divided the path from the meadow, and either because 
 he mistrusted his slender legs, or because he thought 
 a vigorous movement improper for a man of his 
 position, he hesitated, particularly bothered by the 
 sense that ' that huge artist fellow ' was just at his 
 back. At last he made up his mind to step out of 
 his way to a gap in the wooden fence. Vedrine
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 19I 
 
 winked his little eyes. ' Go round, my good sir,' was 
 his thought, ' go round ; make the road as long as you 
 will , it must bring you in the end to the front of the 
 white building yonder. And when you get there, you 
 may possibly have to pay a heavy reckoning for all 
 your scoundrelly tricks. There is always a reckoning 
 to pay in the end.' Having relieved his mind by this 
 soliloquy, he jumped clean over the fence without so 
 much as putting a hand on it (a proceeding extremely 
 improper), and joined the knot of seconds busily 
 engaged in casting lots for places and swords. In 
 spite of the dandified solemnity of their aspect, they 
 looked, as they all bent to see whether the toss fell 
 head or tail, or ran to pick up the coins, like big 
 school-boys in the playground, wrinkled and grey. 
 During a discussion on a doubtful pitch, Ve\drine 
 heard his name called by Astier, who, with perfect 
 self-possession, was taking off his coat and emptying 
 his pockets behind the little building. ' What's that 
 stuff the General is talking? Wants to Have his 
 walking-stick within reach of our swords, to prevent 
 accidents ? I won't have that sort of thing, do you 
 hear ? This is not a lower school fight. We are both 
 old hands, fifth form.' In spite of his light words, 
 his teeth were clenched and his eye gleamed fiercely. 
 ' It's serious then ? ' asked V^drine, looking at him 
 hard.
 
 192 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 ' Couldn't be more so.' 
 
 ' Ah ! Somehow I thought as much,' and the 
 sculptor returned to convey the message to the 
 General, commander of a cavalry division, looking all 
 leg from his heels to his pointed ears, which in bril- 
 liancy of colour vied with Freydet's. At Vedrine's 
 intimation these ears flushed suddenly scarlet, as if 
 the blood boiled in them. ' Right, Sir ! 'Course, 
 Sir ! ' His words cut the air like the lash of a whip. 
 Sammy was being helped by Doctor Aubouis to turn 
 up his shirt sleeves. Did he hear ? or was it the 
 aspect of the lithe, cat-like, vigorous young fellow as 
 he came forward with neck and arms bare and round 
 as a woman's, and with that pitiless look. Be the reason 
 what it may, D'Athis, who had come to the ground as 
 a social duty without a shade of anxiety, as befitted 
 a gentleman who was not inexperienced and knew 
 the value of two good seconds, suddenly changed 
 countenance, turned earthy pale, while his beard 
 scarcely concealed the twitch of his jaw in the 
 horrible contortion of fear. But he kept his self- 
 control, and put himself on the defensive bravely 
 enough. 
 
 1 Now, gentlemen.' 
 
 Yes, there is always a reckoning to pay. He 
 realised that keenly as he faced that pitiless sword- 
 point, which sought him, felt him at a distance,
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' I93 
 
 seemed to spare him now only to make more sure 
 of hitting presently. They meant to kill him ; that 
 was certain. And as he parried the blows with his 
 long, thin arm stretched out, amid the clashing of 
 the hilts he felt, for the first time, a pang of remorse 
 for his mean desertion of the noble lady who had 
 lifted him out of the gutter and given him once 
 more a decent place in the world ; he felt too that 
 her merited wrath was in some way connected with 
 this present encompassing peril, which seemed to 
 shake the air all about him, to send round and round 
 in a glancing, vanishing vision the expanse of sky 
 overhead, the alarmed faces of the seconds and 
 doctors, and the remoter figures of two stable boys 
 wildly beating off with their caps the gambolling 
 horses that wanted to come and look on. Suddenly 
 came exclamations, sharp and peremptory : ' Enough ! 
 Stop, stop ! ' What has happened ? The peril is 
 gone, the sky stands still, everything has resumed its 
 natural colour and place. But at his feet over the 
 torn and trampled ground spreads a widening pool 
 of blood, which darkens the yellow soil, and in it 
 lies Paul Astier helpless, with a wound right through 
 his bare neck, stuck like a pig. In the still pause of 
 horror which followed the disaster was heard the 
 shrill, unceasing noise of insects in the distant meadow, 
 while the horses, no longer watched, gathered together 
 
 o
 
 194 ONE OF THE <F0RTY ' 
 
 a little way off and stretched out inquisitive 
 noses towards the motionless body of the van- 
 quished. 
 
 Yet he was a skilful swordsman. His fingers 
 had a firm grasp of the hilt and could make the 
 whistling blade flash, hover, and descend where he 
 pleased, while his adversary encountered him with a 
 wavering cowardly spit. How had it come about ? 
 The seconds will say, and the evening papers repeat, 
 and to-morrow all Paris will take up the cue, that 
 Paul Astier slipped as he made his thrust and ran on 
 his opponent's point. A full and accurate account 
 will no doubt be given : but in life it usually 
 happens that decision of language varies inversely 
 with certainty of knowledge. Even from the spec- 
 tators, even from the combatants themselves, a 
 certain mist and confusion will always veil the crucial 
 moment, when, against all reasonable calculation, the 
 final stroke was given by intervening fate, wrapped in 
 that obscure cloud which by epic rule closes round 
 the end of a contest. 
 
 Carried into a small coachman's room adjoining 
 the stable, Paul, on opening his eyes after a long 
 swoon, saw first from the iron bedstead on which he 
 lay a lithographic print of the Prince Imperial pinned 
 to the wall over the drawers, which were covered 
 with surgical instruments. As consciousness returned
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 1 95 
 
 to him through the medium of external objects, the 
 poor melancholy face with its faded eyes, discoloured 
 by the damp of the walls, suggested a sad omen of 
 ill-fated youth. But besides ambition and cunning, 
 Paul had his full share of courage ; and raising with 
 difficulty his head and its cumbrous wrapping of 
 bandages, he asked in a voice broken and weak, 
 though fleering still, ' Wound or scratch, doctor ? ' 
 Gomes, who was rolling up his medicated wool, 
 waved to him to keep quiet, as he answered, ' Scratch, 
 you lucky dog ; but a near shave. Aubouis and I 
 thought the carotid was cut.' A faint colour came 
 into the young man's cheeks, and his eyes sparkled. 
 It is so satisfactory not to die ! Instantly his am- 
 bition revived, and he wanted to know how long he 
 should take to get well again. ' From three weeks 
 to a month.' Such was the doctor's judgment, 
 announced in an indifferent tone with an amusing 
 shade of contempt. He was really very much 
 annoyed and mortified that his patient had got the 
 worst of it. Paul with his eyes on the wall was 
 making calculations. D'Athis would be gone and 
 Colette married before he was even out of bed. 
 Well, that business had failed ; he must look out for 
 something else. 
 
 The door was opened, and a great flood of light 
 poured into the miserable room. How delightful 
 
 o 2
 
 196 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 was life and the warm sunshine ! V^drine, coming 
 in with Freydet, went up to the bed and held out his 
 hand joyously, saying ' You did give us a fright ! ' 
 He was really fond of his young rascal, and cherished 
 him as a work of art. 'Ah, that you did!' said 
 Freydet, wiping his brow with an air of great relief. 
 His eyes had seen all his hopes of election to the 
 Academie lying on the ground in that pool of blood. 
 How could Astier, the father, ever have come out as 
 the champion of a man connected with such a fatal 
 event ? Not but that Freydet had a warm heart, but 
 the absorbing thought of his candidature brought his 
 mind, like a compass needle, always round to the 
 same point ; howsoever shaken and turned about, it 
 came back still to the Academic Pole. And as the 
 wounded man smiled at his friends, feeling a little 
 foolish at finding himself, for all his cleverness, lying 
 there at full length, Freydet dilated with admiration 
 on the ' proper ' behaviour of the seconds, whom they 
 had just assisted in framing the report, of Doctor 
 Aubouis, who had offered to stay with his profes- 
 sional friend, of the Prince, who had gone off in the 
 victoria and left for Paul his well-hung carriage, which 
 having only one horse could be brought right up to 
 the door of the little building. Every one had be- 
 haved most properly. 
 
 ' How he bores one with his proprieties ! ' said
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 197 
 
 Vedrine, seeing the face Paul had not been able to 
 help making. 
 
 ' It really is very odd,' murmured the young 
 fellow in a vague and wandering voice. So it would 
 be he, and not the other fellow, whose pale, blood- 
 stained face would be seen by the doctor's side 
 through the window of the brougham as it went 
 slowly home. Well, he had made a mess of it ! 
 Suddenly he sat up, in spite of the doctors protest, 
 rummaged in his card-case for a card, and scribbled 
 on it with pencil in a shaky hand, ' Fate is as faith- 
 less as man. I wanted to avenge you, but could not. 
 Forgive me.' He signed his name, read it over, re- 
 flected, read it again, then fastened up the envelope, 
 which they had found in a dusty drawer, a nasty 
 scented envelope from some rural stores, and directed 
 it to the Duchess Padovani. He gave it to Freydet, 
 begging him to deliver it himself as soon as possible. 
 
 ' It shall be there within an hour, my dear 
 Paul.' 
 
 He made with his hand a sign of thanks and 
 dismissal, then stretched himself out, shut his eyes, 
 and lay quiet and still till the departure, listening to 
 the sound which came from the sunny meadow 
 around — a vast shrill hum of insects, which imitated 
 the pulsation of approaching fever. Beneath the 
 closed lids his thoughts pursued the windings of this
 
 I98 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 second and quite novel plot, conceived by a sudden 
 inspiration on the place of defeat. 
 
 Was it a sudden inspiration ? There perhaps the 
 ambitious young man was wrong ; for the spring of 
 our actions is often unseen, lost and hidden amid the 
 internal disturbance of the crisis, even as the agitator 
 who starts a crowd himself disappears in it. A human 
 being resembles a crowd ; both are manifold, com- 
 plicated things, full of confused and irregular im- 
 pulses, but there is an agitator in the background ; 
 and the movements of a man, like those of a mob, 
 passionate and spontaneous as they may appear, 
 have always been preconcerted. Since the evening 
 when on the terrace of the Hotel Padovani Lavaux 
 had suggested the Duchess to the young Guardsman, 
 the thought had occurred to Paul that, if Madame 
 de Rosen failed him, he might fall back on the fair 
 Antonia. It had recurred two nights ago at the 
 Francois, when he saw Adriani in the Duchess's box ; 
 but it took no definite shape, because all his energy 
 was then turned in another direction, and he still 
 believed in the possibility of success. Now that the 
 game was completely lost, his first idea on returning 
 to life was 'the Duchess.' Thus, although he 
 scarcely knew it, the resolution reached so abruptly 
 was but the coming to light of what grew slowly 
 underground. ' I wanted to avenge you, but could
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 1 99 
 
 not.' Warm-hearted, impulsive, and revengeful as 
 he knew her to be, ' Mari' Anto,' as her Corsicans 
 called her, would certainly be at his bedside the 
 next morning. It would be his business to see that 
 she did not go away. 
 
 Vedrine and Freydet went Dack together in the 
 landau, without waiting for Sammy's brougham, 
 which had to come slowly for the sake of the 
 wounded man. The sight of the swords lying in 
 their baize cover on the empty seat opposite sug- 
 gested reflection. ' They don't rattle so much as they 
 did going, the brutes,' said Vedrine, kicking them as 
 he spoke. ' Ah, you see they are his ! ' said Freydet, 
 giving words to his thoughts. Then, resuming the 
 air of gravity and propriety appropriate to a second, 
 he added, ' We had everything in our favour, the 
 ground, the weapons, and a first-rate fencer. As he 
 says, it is very odd. 
 
 Presently there was a pause in the dialogue, while 
 their attention was fixed by the gorgeous colour of 
 the river, spread in sheets of green and purple under 
 the setting sun. Crossing the bridge the horses 
 trotted fast up the street of Boulogne. 'Yes,' Vedrine 
 went on, as if there had been no long interruption of 
 silence ; ' yes, after all, in spite of apparent successes, 
 the fellow is unlucky at bottom. I have now seen 
 him more than once fighting with circumstances in
 
 200 ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 
 
 one of those crises which are touchstones to a man's 
 fate, and bring out of him all the luck he has. Well, 
 let him plot as cunningly as he will, foresee everything, 
 mix his tints with the utmost skill, something gives 
 way at the last moment, and without completely 
 ruining him prevents him from attaining his object. 
 Why ? Very likely, just because his nose is crooked. 
 I assure you, that sort of crookedness is nearly always 
 the sign of a twist in the intellect, an obliquity in the 
 character. The helm's not straight, you see ! ' 
 
 They laughed at the suggestion ; and Vedrine, 
 pursuing the subject of good and bad luck, told an 
 odd story of a thing which had happened almost 
 under his eyes when he was staying with the Pado- 
 vani in Corsica. It was on the coast at Barbicaglia, 
 just opposite the lighthouse on the Sanguinaires. In 
 this lighthouse lived an old keeper, a tried servant, 
 just on the eve of retirement. One night when he 
 was on duty the old fellow fell asleep and dozed for 
 five minutes at the most, stopping with his out- 
 stretched leg the movement of the revolving light, 
 which ought to change colour once a minute. That 
 very night, just at that moment, the inspector-general, 
 who was making his annual round in a Government 
 boat, happened to be opposite the Sanguinaires. He 
 was amazed to see a stationary light, had the boat 
 stopped, investigated and reported the matter, and
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 201 
 
 the next morning the official boat brought a new 
 keeper to the island and notice of instant dismissal 
 to the poor old man. ' It seems to me,' said Vedrine, 
 ' a curiosity in ill-luck that, in the chances of darkness, 
 time, and space, the inspector's survey should have 
 coincided with the old man's nap.' Their carriage 
 was just reaching the Place de la Concorde, and 
 Vedrine pointed with one of his slow calm move- 
 ments to a great piece of sky overhead where the 
 dark green colour was pierced here and there by 
 newly-appearing stars, visible in the waning light of 
 the glorious day. 
 
 A few minutes later the landau turned into the 
 Rue de Poitiers, a short street, already in shadow, 
 and stopped in front of the high iron gates bearing 
 the Padovani shield. All the shutters of the house 
 were closed, and there was a great chattering of birds 
 in the garden. The Duchess had gone for the summer 
 to Mousseaux. Freydet stood hesitating, with the 
 huge envelope in his hand. He had expected to see 
 the fair Antonia and give a graphic account of the 
 duel, perhaps even to slip in a reference to his ap- 
 proaching candidature. Now he could not make up 
 his mind whether he should leave the letter, or deliver 
 it himself a few days hence, when he went back to 
 Clos Jallanges. Eventually he decided to leave it, 
 and as he stepped back into the carriage he said,
 
 202 ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 
 
 ' Poor fellow ! He impressed upon me that the letter 
 was urgent.' 
 
 4 Quite so,' said Vddrine, as the landau carried 
 them along the quays, now beginning to glimmer 
 with rows of yellow lights, to the meeting place 
 arranged with D'Athis's seconds ; * quite so. I don't 
 know what the letter is about, but for him to take 
 the trouble to write it at such a moment, it must be 
 something very smart, something extremely ingenious 
 and clever. Only there you are ! Very urgent — and 
 the Duchess has left' 
 
 And pushing the end of his nose on one side 
 between two fingers, he said with the utmost gravity, 
 • That's what it is, you see.'
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY 1 203 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The sword-thrust which had so nearly cost Paul 
 Astier his life made peace for the time between his 
 parents. In the emotion produced by such a shock 
 to his natural feelings, the father forgave all ; and as 
 for three weeks Madame Astier remained with her 
 patient, coming home only on flying visits to fetch 
 linen or change her dress, there was no risk of the 
 covert allusions and indirect reproaches, which will 
 revive, even after forgiveness and reconciliation, the 
 disagreement of husband and wife. And when Paul 
 got well and went, at the urgent invitation of the 
 Duchess, to Mousseaux, the return of this truly aca- 
 demic household, if not to warm affection, at least to 
 the equable temperature of the ' cold bed,' was finally 
 secured by its establishment in the Institute, in the 
 official lodgings vacated by Loisillon, whose widow, 
 having been appointed manager of the school of 
 Ecouen, removed so quickly, that the new secretary 
 began to move in within a very few days of his 
 election. 
 
 It was not a long process to settle in rooms which
 
 204 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 they had surveyed for years with the minute exact- 
 ness of envy and hope, till they knew the very 
 utmost that could be made of every corner. The 
 pieces of furniture from the Rue de Beaune fell into 
 the new arrangement so smartly, that it looked as if 
 they were merely returning after a sojourn in the 
 country, and finding their fixed habitat and natural 
 place of adhesion by the marks of their own forms 
 upon the floors or panels. The redecoration was 
 limited to cleaning the room in which Loisillon died, 
 and papering what had been the reception-room of 
 Villemain and was now taken by Astier for his study, 
 because there was a good light from the quiet court 
 and a lofty bright little room, immediately adjoining, 
 for his MSS., which were transferred there in three 
 journeys of a cab, with the help of Fage the bookbinder. 
 Every morning, with a fresh delight, he enjoyed 
 the convenience of a ' library ' scarcely inferior to the 
 Foreign Office, which he could enter without stooping 
 or climbing a ladder. Of his kennel in the Rue de 
 Beaune he could not now think without anger and 
 disgust. It is the nature of man to regard places 
 in which he has felt pain with an obstinate and 
 unforgiving dislike. We can reconcile ourselves to 
 living creatures, which are capable of alteration and 
 differences of aspect, but not to the stony unchange- 
 ableness of things. Amid the pleasures of getting
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 205 
 
 in, Asticr-Rchu could forget his indignation at the 
 offence of his wife, and even his grievances against 
 Teyssedre, who received orders to come every Wed- 
 nesday morning as before. But at the mere remem- 
 brance of the slope-roofed den, into which he was 
 lately banished for one day in each week, the his- 
 torian ground his teeth, and the jaw of ' Crocodilus ' 
 reappeared. 
 
 Teyssedre, incredible as it may be, was very little 
 excited or impressed by the honour of polishing the 
 monumental floors of the Palais Mazarin, and still 
 shoved about the table, papers, and numberless re- 
 ports of the Permanent Secretary with the calm 
 superiority of a citizen of Riom over a common 
 fellow from ' Chauvagnat.' Astier-Rehu, secretly 
 uncomfortable under this crushing contempt, some- 
 times tried to make the savage feel the dignity of 
 the place upon which his wax-cake was operating. 
 4 Teyssedre,' said he to him, one morning, ' this was 
 the reception-room of the great Villemain. Pray treat 
 it accordingly ; ' but he instantly offered satisfaction 
 to the Arvernian's pride by saying weakly to Coren- 
 tine, ' Give the good man a glass of wine.' The 
 astonished Corentine brought it, and the polisher, 
 leaning on his stick, emptied it at a draught, his 
 pupils dilating with pleasure. Then he wiped his 
 mouth with his sleeve and, setting down the glass
 
 206 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 with the mark of his greedy lips upon it, said, ' Look 
 you, Meuchieu Astier, a glass of good wine is the only 
 real good in life.' There was such a ring of truth 
 in his voice, such a sparkle of contentment in his 
 eyes, that the Permanent Secretary, going back into 
 his library, shut the door a little sharply. It was 
 scarcely worth while to have scrambled from his low 
 beginning to his present glory as head of literature, 
 historian of the ' House of Orleans,' and keystone of 
 the Academie Franchise, if a glass of good wine could 
 give to a boor a happiness worth it all. But the next 
 minute, hearing the polisher say with a sneer to 
 Corentine that ' mooch 'e cared for the 'ception-room 
 of the great Villemain,' Leonard Astier shrugged 
 his shoulders, and at the thought of such ignorance 
 his half-felt envy gave way to a deep and benign 
 compassion. 
 
 Meanwhile Madame Astier, who had been brought 
 up in the building, and recognised with remembrances 
 of her childhood every stone in the court and every 
 step in the dusty and venerable Staircase B, felt as 
 if she had at last got back to her home. She had, 
 moreover, a sense far keener than her husband's of 
 the material advantages of the place. Nothing to 
 pay for rent, for lighting, for fires, a great saving upon 
 the parties of the winter season, to say nothing of 
 the increase of income and the influential connection,
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 207 
 
 so particularly valuable in procuring orders for her 
 beloved Paul. Madame Loisillon in her time, when 
 sounding the praises of her apartments at the In- 
 stitute, never failed to add with emphasis, ' I have 
 entertained there even Sovereigns.' ' Yes, in the 
 little room,' good Adelaide would answer tartly, 
 drawing up her long neck. It was the fact that not 
 unfrequently, after the prolonged fatigue of a Special 
 Session, some great lady, a Royal Highness on 
 her travels, or a leader influential in politics, would 
 go upstairs to pay a little particular visit to the wife 
 of the Permanent Secretary. To this sort of hospi- 
 tality Madame Loisillon was indebted for her present 
 appointment as school-manager, and Madame Astier 
 would certainly not be less clever than her prede- 
 cessor in utilising the convenience. The only draw- 
 back to her triumph was her quarrel with the Duchess, 
 which made it impossible for her to follow Paul to 
 Mousseaux. But an invitation, opportunely arriving 
 at this moment, enabled her to get as near to him as 
 the house at Clos Jallanges ; and she had hopes of 
 recovering in time the favour of the fair Antonia, 
 towards whom, when she saw her so kind to Paul 
 she began again to feel quite affectionate. 
 
 Leonard could not leave Paris, having to work off 
 the arrears of business left by Loisillon. He let his 
 wife go however, and promised to come down to their
 
 208 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 friends for a few hours now and then, though in truth 
 he was resolved not to separate himself from his 
 beloved Institute. It was so comfortable and quiet ! 
 He had to attend two meetings in the week, just on 
 the other side of the court — summer meetings, where 
 a friendly party of five or six ' tallymen ' dozed at 
 ease under the warm glass. The rest of the week he 
 was entirely free, and the old man employed it indus- 
 triously in correcting the proofs of his ' Galileo,' which, 
 finished at last, was to come out at the opening of the 
 season, as well as a second edition of ' The House of 
 Orleans,' improved to twice its value by the addition 
 of new and unpublished documents. As the world 
 grows old, history, which being but a collective 
 memory of the race is liable to all the lapses, losses, 
 and weaknesses of memory in the individual, finds it 
 ever more necessary to be fortified with authentic 
 texts, and if it would escape the errors of senility, 
 must refresh itself at the original springs. With what 
 pride, therefore, with what enjoyment did Astier- 
 Rehu, during those hot August days, revise the fresh 
 and trustworthy information displayed in his beloved 
 pages, as a preparation for returning them to his 
 publisher, with the heading on which, for the first 
 time, appeared beneath his name the words ' Secre- 
 taire perpetuel de l'Academie Franchise.' His eyes 
 were not yet accustomed to the title, which dazzled
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 20O, 
 
 him on each occasion, like the sun upon the white 
 courtyard beneath his windows. It was the vast 
 Second Court of the Institute, private and majestic, 
 silent, but for sparrows or swallows passing rarely 
 overhead, and consecrated by a bronze bust of 
 Minerva with ten termini in a row against the back 
 wall, over which rose the huge chimney of the adjoin- 
 ing Mint. 
 
 Towards four o'clock, when the helmeted shadow 
 of the bust was beginning to lengthen, the stiff 
 mechanical step of old Jean Re'hu would be heard 
 upon the flags. He lived over the Astiers, and went 
 out regularly every day for a long walk, watched from 
 a respectful distance by a servant, whose arm he per- 
 sistently refused. Within the barrier of his increasing 
 deafness his faculties, under the great heat of this 
 summer, had begun to give way, and especially his 
 memory, no longer effectually guided by the remind- 
 ing pins upon the lappets of his coat. He mixed his 
 stones, and lost himself, like old Livingstone in the 
 marshes of Central Africa, among his recollections, 
 where he scrambled and floundered till some one 
 assisted him. Such a humiliation irritated his spleen, 
 and he now therefore seldom spoke to anyone, but 
 talked to himself as he went along, marking with a 
 sudden stop and a shake of the head the end of an 
 anecdote and the inevitable phrase, ' That's a thing
 
 2IO ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 that I have seen.' But he still carried himself up- 
 right, and was as fond of a hoax as in the days 
 of the Directory. It was his amusement to impose 
 abstinence from wine, abstinence from meat, and 
 every ridiculous variety of regimen upon cits 
 enamoured of life, crowds of whom wrote to him 
 daily, asking by what diet he had so miraculously 
 extended his. He would prescribe sometimes vege - 
 tables, milk, or cider, sometimes shell-fish exclusively, 
 and meanwhile ate and drank without restriction, 
 taking after each meal a siesta, and every evening a 
 good turn up and down the floor, audible to Leonard 
 Astier in the room below. 
 
 Two months, August and September, had now 
 elapsed since the Permanent Secretary came in — two 
 clear months of fruitful, delightful peace ; such a 
 pause in the climb of ambition as perhaps in all his 
 life he had never enjoyed before. Madame Astier, 
 still at Clos Jallanges, talked of returning soon ; 
 the sky of Paris showed the grey of the first 
 fogs ; the Academicians began to come home ; 
 the meetings were becoming less sociable ; and 
 Astier, during his working hours in the reception- 
 room of the great Villemain, found it no longer neces- 
 sary to screen himself with blinds from the blazing 
 reflection of the court. He was at his table one 
 afternoon, writing to the worthy De Freydet a letter
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 211 
 
 of good news about his candidature, when the old 
 cracked door-bell was violently rung. Corentine 
 had just gone out, so he went to the door, where, to 
 his astonishment, he was confronted by Baron Huche- 
 nard and Bos the dealer in manuscripts. Bos dashed 
 into the study wildly waving his arms, while breath- 
 less ejaculations flew out of his red tangle of beard 
 and hair : ' Forged ! The documents are forged ! I 
 can prove it ! I can prove it !' 
 
 Astier-R<£hu, not understanding at first, looked at 
 the Baron, who looked at the ceiling. But when he 
 had picked up the meaning of the dealer's outcry — 
 that the three autograph letters of Charles V., sold 
 by Madame Astier to Bos and by him transferred to 
 Huchenard, were asserted not to be genuine — he said 
 with a disdainful smile, that he would readily re- 
 purchase them, as he regarded them with a confidence 
 not to be affected by any means whatsoever. 
 
 'Allow me, Mr. Secretary, allow me. I would 
 
 ask you,' said Baron Huchenard, slowly unbuttoning 
 
 his macintosh as he spoke, and drawing the three 
 
 documents out of a large envelope, ' to observe this.' 
 
 The parchments were so changed as scarcely to seem 
 
 the same ; their smoky brown was bleached to a 
 
 perfect whiteness ; and upon each, clear and legible 
 
 in the middle of the page, below the signature of 
 
 Charles V., was this mark, 
 
 p 2
 
 212 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 BB. 
 
 Angouleme 
 1836. 
 
 1 It was Delpech, the Professor of Chemistry, our 
 learned colleague of the Academie des Sciences, 
 who—' but of the Baron's explanation nothing but a 
 confused murmur reached poor Leonard. There was 
 no colour in his face, nor a drop of blood left at the 
 tips of the big heavy fingers, in whose hold the three 
 autographs shook. 
 
 'The 800/. shall be at your house this evening, 
 M. Bos,' he managed to say at last with what mois- 
 ture was left in his mouth. 
 
 Bos protested and appealed. The Baron had 
 given him 900/. 
 
 '900/., then,' said Astier-Rehu, making a great 
 effort to show them out. But in the dimly-lighted 
 hall he kept back his colleague, and begged him 
 humbly, as a Member of the Academie des Inscrip- 
 tions, and for the honour of the whole Institute, to 
 say nothing of this unlucky affair. 
 
 1 Certainly, my dear sir, certainly, on one condi- 
 tion.' 
 
 ' Name it, name it' 
 
 ' You will shortly receive notice that I am a 
 candidate for Loisillon's chair.' The Secretary's
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 21 3 
 
 answer was a firm clasp of hand in hand, which 
 pledged the assistance of himself and his friendc. 
 
 Once alone, the unhappy man sank down before 
 the table with its load of proofs, on which lay out- 
 spread the three forged letters to Rabelais. He 
 gazed at them blankly, and mechanically read : 
 ' Maitre Rabelais, vons qiCavez F esprit fin et subtil' 
 The characters seemed to go round and round in a 
 mixture of ink, dissolved into broad blots of sulphate 
 of iron, which to his imagination went on spreading, 
 till they reached his whole collection of originals, ten 
 or twelve thousand, all unhappily got from the same 
 quarter. Since these three were forged, what of his 
 'Galileo'? — what of his 'House of Orleans'? — the 
 letter of Catherine II. which he had presented to the 
 Grand Duke ? — the letter of Rotrou, which he had 
 solemnly bestowed upon the Acadcmie ? What ? 
 What ? A spasm of energy brought him to his legs. 
 Fage ! He must at once see Fage ! 
 
 His dealings with the bookbinder had begun 
 some years before, when the little man had come one 
 day to the Library of the Foreign Office to request 
 the opinion of its learned and illustrious Keeper 
 respecting a letter from Marie de Medicis to Pope 
 Urban VIII. in favour of Galileo. It happened that 
 Petit-Sdquard had just announced as forthcoming, 
 among a series of short light volumes on history,
 
 214 0NE 0F THE 'FORTY' 
 
 entitled ' Holiday Studies,' a ' Galileo ' by Astier-Rehu 
 of the Academie Frangaise. When therefore the 
 librarian's trained judgment had assured him that 
 the MS. was genuine, and he was told that Fage 
 possessed also the letter of the Pope in reply, a letter 
 of thanks from Galileo to the- Queen, and others, he 
 conceived instantaneously the idea of writing, instead 
 of the ' slight trifle,' a great historical work. But his 
 probity suggesting at the same moment a doubt as 
 to the source of these documents, he looked the 
 dwarf steadily in the face, and after examining, as he 
 would have examined an original, the long pallid 
 visage and the reddened, blinking eye-lids, said, 
 with an inquisitorial snap of the jaw, 'Are these 
 manuscripts your own, M. Fage ? ' 
 
 ' Oh no, sir,' said Fage. He was merely acting 
 on behalf of a third person, an old maiden lady of 
 good birth, who was obliged to part gradually with 
 a very fine collection, which had belonged to the 
 family ever since Louis XVI. Nor had he been 
 willing to act, till he had taken the opinion of a 
 scholar of the highest learning and character. Now, 
 relying upon so competent a judgment, he should go 
 to rich collectors, such as Baron Huchenard, for 
 instance — but Astier-Rehu stopped him, saying, 
 ' Do not trouble yourself. Bring me all you have 
 relating to Galileo. I can dispose of it' People
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 21 5 
 
 were coming in and taking their places at the little 
 tables, the sort of people who prowl and hunt in 
 libraries, colourless and taciturn as diggers from the 
 mines, with an air as if they had themselves been dug 
 up out of somewhere close and damp. ' Come to my 
 private room, upstairs, not here,' whispered the 
 librarian in the big ear of the humpback as he moved 
 away, displaying his gloves, oiled hair, and middle 
 parting with the self-sufficiency often observable in 
 his species. 
 
 The collection of Mademoiselle du Mesnil-Case, 
 a name disclosed by Albin Fage only under solemn 
 promise of secrecy, proved to be an inexhaustible 
 treasure of papers relating to the sixteenth and seven- 
 teenth centuries, which threw all sorts of interest- 
 ing lights upon the past, and sometimes, by a word 
 or a date, overturned completely the established 
 opinions about facts or persons. Whatever the price, 
 Leonard Astier took and kept every one of the 
 documents, which almost always fitted in with his 
 commenced or projected works. Without a shadow 
 of doubt he accepted the little man's account of the 
 masses of originals that were still accumulating dust 
 in the attic of an ancient mansion at M£nilmontant. 
 If, after some venomous criticism from 'the first 
 collector in France,' his trust was slightly disturbed 
 the suspicion could not but vanish when the book-
 
 2l6 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 binder, seated at his table or watering his vegetables 
 in the quiet grass-grown yard, met it with perfect 
 composure, and offered in particular a quite natural 
 explanation of certain marks of erasure and re- 
 storation, visible on some of the pages, as due to the 
 submergence of the collection in sea-water, when it 
 was sent to England during the emigration. After 
 this fresh assurance Astier-Rehu would go back to 
 the gate with a lively step, carrying off each time a 
 purchase for which he had given, according to its 
 historical value, a cheque for twenty, forty, or even as 
 much as eighty pounds. 
 
 These extravagances, unsuspected as yet by those 
 around him, were prompted, whatever he might say 
 to quiet his conscience, not so much by the motives 
 of the historian as by those of the collector. This, 
 even in a place so ill-adapted for seeing and hearing 
 as the attic in the Rue de Beaune, where the bargains 
 were usually struck, would have been patent to any 
 observer. The tone of pretended indifference, the 
 'Let me see' muttered with dry lips, the quiveri ig of 
 the covetous fingers, marked the progress from pas- 
 sion to mania, the growth of the hard and selfish 
 cyst, which was feeding its monstrous size upon 
 the ruin ot the whole organism. Astier was be- 
 coming the intractable Harpagon of the stage, piti- 
 less to others as to himself, bewailing his poverty
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 217 
 
 and riding in the omnibus, while in two years nearly 
 6500/. of his savings dropped secretly into the pocket 
 of the humpback. To account to Madame Astier, 
 Corentine, and Teyssedre for the frequent visits of 
 the little man, he received from the Academician 
 pamphlets to bind, which he took away and brought 
 back ostentatiously. They corresponded by a sort 
 of privat~ code. Fage would write on a post-card, 
 ' I have some new tooling to show you, sixteenth 
 century, in good condition and rare.' Astier would 
 temporise : ' Not wanted, thanks. Perhaps later.' 
 Then would come ' My dear Sir, Do not think of 
 it. I will try elsewhere,' and to this the Acade- 
 mician invariably answered ' Early to-morrow morn- 
 ing. Bring the tooling.' Here was the torment of 
 the collector's pleasure. He must buy and buy, or 
 else let pass to Bos, Huchenard, or some other rival 
 the treasures of Menilmontant. Sometimes the 
 thought of the time when money must fail would 
 put him into a grim rage, and infuriated by the calm, 
 self-satisfied countenance of the dwarf, he would ex- 
 claim ' More than 6400/. in two years ! And still, 
 you say, the lady is in want of money ! How on 
 earth does she get rid of it ? ' At such moments he 
 longed for the death of the old maid, the annihila- 
 tion of the bookbinder, even a war, revolution, or 
 general catastrophe, which might swallow up both
 
 2l8 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 the treasure and the relentless speculators who 
 worked it. 
 
 And now the catastrophe was indeed near, not 
 the catastrophe desired, for destiny never finds to her 
 hand precisely the thing we asked for, but a turn of 
 things so sudden and appalling as to threaten his 
 work, his honour, fortune, and fame, all that he was 
 and all that he had. As he strode away towards the 
 Cour des Comptes, deadly pale and talking to him- 
 self, the booksellers and print-dealers along the 
 quay scarcely recognised the Astier-Rehu who, 
 instead of looking right into the shop for a bow, now 
 passed them without recognition. To him neither 
 person nor thing was visible. In imagination he was 
 grasping the humpback by the throat, shaking him 
 by his pin-bespangled scarf, and thrusting under his 
 nose the autographs dishonoured by the chemistry 
 of Delpech, with the question, ' Now then, what is 
 your answer to that ? ' 
 
 When he reached the Rue de Lille, he dashed 
 through the door of rough planks in the fence which 
 surrounds the ruins, went up the steps, and rang the 
 bell once and again. He was struck by the gloomy 
 look of the building, now that no flowers or greenery 
 covered the nakedness of the gaping, crumbling 
 masonry and the confusion of the twisted iron-work and 
 leafless creepers. The sound of pattens came slowly
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 2IQ 
 
 across the chilly court, and the caretaker appeared, 
 a solid woman, who, broom in hand and without 
 opening the gate, said, ' You want the bookbinder ; 
 but he isn't here now.' Not here ! Yes, Fage had 
 gone, and left no address. In fact, she was just clean- 
 ing up the cottage for the man who was to have the 
 appointment to the Cour des Comptes, which Fage 
 had resigned. 
 
 Astier-Rehu, for appearance' sake, stammered out 
 a word or two, but his voice was lost in the harsh 
 and mournful cries of a great flight of black birds, 
 which made the arches echo as they descended upon 
 the court. ' Why, here are the Duchess's rooks ! ' 
 said the woman, with a respectful wave of the hand 
 towards the bare plane-trees of the Hotel Padovani, 
 visible over the roof opposite. ' They are come 
 before the Duchess this year, and that means an 
 early winter ! ' 
 
 He went away, with horror in his heart.
 
 220 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The day following that on which the Duchess Pado- 
 vani, to show herself smiling under the blow which 
 had fallen upon her, had appeared at the theatre, she 
 went, as she usually did at that time of year, to 
 Mousseaux. She made no change in her plans. She 
 had sent out her invitations for the season, and did 
 not cancel them. But before the arrival of the first 
 instalment of visitors, during the few days' solitude 
 usually spent in superintending in detail the arrange- 
 ments for entertaining her guests, she passed the 
 whole time from morning to night in the park at 
 Mousseaux, whose slopes stretched far and wide on 
 the banks of the Loire. She would go madly along, 
 like a wounded and hunted animal, stop for a moment 
 from exhaustion, and then at a throb of pain start 
 off again. ' Coward ! coward ! wretch \ ' She hurled 
 invectives at the Prince as though he had been by her 
 side, and still she walked with the same fevered tread 
 the labyrinth of green paths which ran down in long 
 shady windings to the river. Here, forgetting her 
 rank and her position, flinging off her mask and able
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 221 
 
 to be natural at last, she would give vent to her 
 despair, a despair perhaps something less than her 
 wrath, for the voice of pride spoke louder within her 
 than any other, and the few tears which escaped her 
 lids did not flow, but leaped and sparkled like 
 flames. Revenge, revenge ! She longed for a re- 
 venge of blood, and sometimes pictured one of her 
 foresters, Bertoli or Salviato, going off abroad to put 
 a bullet into him on his wedding-day. Then she 
 changed her mind. No, she would deal the blow 
 herself, and feel the joy of the vendetta in her own 
 grasp. She envied the women of lower class who 
 wait behind a doorway for the traitor, and fling in his 
 face a bottle full of vitriol with a storm of hideous 
 curses. Why did she not know some of the horrible 
 names that relieve the heart, some foul insult to 
 shriek at the mean treacherous companion who rose 
 before her mind with the hesitating look and false 
 constrained smile he wore at their last meeting ? But 
 even in her savage Corsican patois the great lady 
 knew no ' nasty words,' and when she had cried 
 ' Coward ! coward ! wretch ! ' her beautiful mouth 
 could only writhe in helpless rage. 
 
 In the evening after her solitary dinner in the vast 
 hall, whose panelling of old leather was gilt by the 
 setting sun, her wild pacing to and fro began again. 
 Now it was on the gallery overhanging the river,
 
 222 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 quaintly restored by Paul Astier, with open arcades 
 like lace-work and two pretty corbel-turrets. Below 
 on the Loire, outspread like a lake, there still lingered 
 a delicate silvery light from the departing day, while 
 the hazy evening air exaggerated the distances 
 between the willow beds and islands out towards 
 Chaumont. But poor Mari' Anto did not look at 
 the view when, worn out with retracing the steps of 
 her grief, she leant both elbows on the balustrade 
 and gazed into the dimness. Her life appeared 
 before her, waste and desolate, at an age when it is 
 difficult to make a fresh start. A faint sound of 
 voices rose from Mousseaux, a group of two or three 
 small houses on the embankment ; the chain of a boat 
 creaked as the night breeze rose. How easy it would 
 be ! Grief had bowed down her head so low, that if 
 she were but to lean forward a little farther. . . . But 
 then what would the world say ? A woman of her rank 
 and age could not kill herself like any little grisette ! 
 The third day Paul's note arrived, and with it the 
 newspapers' detailed report of the duel. It gave her 
 the same delight as a warm pressure of the hand. 
 So some one still cared for her, and had wanted to 
 avenge her at the risk of his life ! Not that Paul's 
 feeling was love, she supposed, but only a grateful 
 affection, the reminiscence of kindnesses done by her 
 to him and his family, perhaps an imperative desire
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 223 
 
 to atone for his mother's treachery. Generous, brave 
 fellow ! If she had been in Paris, she would have 
 gone to him at once, but as her guests were just due, 
 she could only write and send him her own doctor. 
 
 Every hour came fresh arrivals from Blois and 
 from Onzain, Mousseaux lying half way between the 
 two stations. The landau, the victoria, and two great 
 breaks set down at the steps in the great court, amid 
 the incessant ringing of the bell, many illustrious 
 members of the Duchess's set, academicians and 
 diplomatists, the Count and Countess Foder, the 
 Comte de Bretigny and his son the Vicomte, who was 
 a Secretary of Legation, M. and Madame Desminieres, 
 Laniboire the philosopher, who had come to the 
 castle to draw up his report on the award of the Prix de 
 verttiy the young critic of Shelley, who was ' run ' by 
 the Padovani set, and Danjou, handsome Danjou, all 
 by himself, though his wife had been asked. Life at 
 Mousseaux was exactly what it had been the year 
 before. The day passed in calls, or work in the 
 separate rooms, meals, general conversation, after- 
 noon naps ; then, when the great heat was passed, 
 came long drives through the woods, or sails on the 
 river in the little fleet of boats anchored at the bottom 
 of the park. Parties would be made to picnic on an 
 island, and some of the guests would repair to the 
 fish preserves, which were always well stocked with
 
 224 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 
 
 lively fish, as the keeper took care to replenish them 
 from his nets before each expedition. Then every 
 one came back to the ceremonious dinner, after which 
 the gentlemen, when they had smoked in the billiard 
 room or on the gallery, joined the ladies in a splendid 
 apartment, which had been the council-chamber of 
 Catherine de Medicis. 
 
 All round the huge room were depicted in tapestry 
 the loves of Dido and her despair at the departure of 
 the Trojan ships. The irony of this strange coinci- 
 dence was not remarked by any one, so little do people 
 in society regard their surroundings, less for want of 
 observation than because they are always and fully 
 occupied with their personal behaviour and the effect 
 they are to produce. But there was a striking con- 
 trast between the tragic despair of the abandoned 
 queen, gazing with arms uplifted and streaming eyes 
 as the little black speck disappeared, and the smiling 
 serenity of the Duchess, as she presided in the 
 drawing-room, maintaining her supremacy over the 
 other ladies, whose dress and whose reading were 
 guided by her taste, or joining in the discussions 
 between Laniboire and the young critic, and in the 
 disputes waged over the candidates for Loisillon's 
 seat by Desminieres and Danjou. Indeed, if the 
 Prince d'Athis, the faithless Sammy, whose name was 
 in every one's thoughts, though on no one's lips, could
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 225 
 
 have seen her, he would have been mortified to find 
 how small was the gap left in a woman's life by his 
 absence, and how busy was the turmoil throughout 
 the royal castle of Mousseaux, where in all the long 
 front there were but three windows shut up, those 
 belonging to what were called ' the Prince's rooms.' 
 
 ' She takes it well,' said Danjou the first evening. 
 And neither little Countess Foder, from whose massy 
 lace protruded a very sharp inquisitive little nose, nor 
 sentimental Madame Desminieres, who had looked 
 forward to lamentations and confidences, could get 
 over such amazing courage. In truth they were as 
 much amazed at her as if going to a long-expected 
 play they had found the house ' closed for the day ' ; 
 while the men took Ariadne's equanimity as an en- 
 couragement to would-be successors. The real change 
 in the Duchess's life lay in the attitude observed to- 
 wards her by all or nearly all the men ; they were 
 less reserved, more sedulous, more eager to please 
 her, and fluttered round her chair with an obvious 
 desire, not merely to merit her patronage, but to 
 attract her regard. 
 
 Never indeed had Maria Antonia been more 
 beautiful. When she entered the dining-room the 
 tempered brilliancy of her complexion and her 
 shoulders in their light summer robe made a bright 
 place at the table, even when the Marquise de Roca 
 
 Q
 
 226 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 Nera had come over from her neighbouring country 
 seat on the other side of the Loire. The Marquise 
 was younger, but no one would have thought so 
 to look at them. Laniboire, the philosopher, was 
 strongly attracted to the Duchess. He was a 
 widower, well on in years, with heavy features and 
 apoplectic complexion, but he did his best to 
 captivate his hostess by the display of a manly and 
 sportsmanlike activity which led him into occasional 
 mishaps. One day, in a boat, as he tried to make a 
 great display of biceps over his rowing, he fell into 
 the river ; another time, as he was prancing on horse- 
 back at the side of the carriage, his mount squeezed 
 his leg so hard against the wheel that he had to keep 
 his room and be bandaged for several days. But 
 the finest spectacle was to see him in the drawing- 
 room, 'dancing,' as Danjou said, 'before the Ark.' 
 He stretched and bent his unwieldy person in all 
 directions. He would challenge to a philosophic duel 
 the young critic, a confirmed pessimist of three-and- 
 tvventy, and overwhelm him with his own imperturb- 
 able optimism. Laniboire the philosopher had one 
 particular reason for this good opinion of the world ; 
 his wife had died of diphtheria caught from nursing 
 their children ; both his children had died with their 
 mother ; and each time that he repeated his dithyramb 
 in praise of existence, the philosopher concluded his
 
 ONE OF THE ' FORTY' 227 
 
 statement with a sort of practical demonstration, a 
 bow to the Duchess, which seemed to say, ' How can 
 a man think ill of life in the presence of such beauty 
 as yours ? ' 
 
 The young critic paid his court in a less con- 
 spicuous and sufficiently cunning fashion. He was 
 an immense admirer of the Prince d'Athis, and being 
 at the age when admiration shows itself by imitation, 
 he no sooner made his entry into society than he 
 copied Sammy's attitudes, his walk, even the car- 
 riage of his head, his bent back, and vague myste- 
 rious smile of contemptuous reserve. Now he in- 
 creased the resemblance by details of dress, which he 
 had observed and collected with the sharpness of a 
 child, from the way of pinning his tie just at the 
 opening of the collar to the fawn-coloured check of 
 his English trousers. Unfortunately he had too 
 much hair and not a scrap of beard, so that his 
 efforts were quite thrown away, and revived no un- 
 comfortable memories in the Duchess, who was as 
 indifferent to his English checks as she was to the 
 languishing glances of Bretigjiyyf/i - , or the significant 
 pressure of Bretigny pere, as he gave her his arm to 
 dinner. But all this helped to surround her with 
 that atmosphere of gallantry to which she had long 
 been accustomed by D'Athis, who played the humble 
 servant to the verge of servility, and to save her 
 
 Q2
 
 228 ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 
 
 woman's pride from the conscious humiliation of 
 abandonment. 
 
 Amidst all these aspirants Danjou kept somewhat 
 aloof, amusing the Duchess with his green-room 
 stories and making her laugh, a way of self-recom- 
 mendation in certain cases not unsuccessful. But 
 the time came when he thought matters sufficiently 
 advanced : and one morning when she was starting 
 for her rapid solitary walk with her dogs through the 
 park, in the hope of leaving her wrath behind in the 
 thickets with the waking birds, or of cooling and 
 tempering it among the dewy lawns and dripping 
 branches — suddenly, at a turn in the path, appeared 
 Danjou, ready for the attack. Dressed from head to 
 foot in white flannels, his trousers tucked into his 
 boots, with a picturesque cap and a well-trimmed 
 beard, he was trying to find a denouement for a three- 
 act drama, to be ready for the Frangais that winter. 
 The name was ' Appearances,' and the subject a 
 satire on society. Everything was written but the 
 final scene. 
 
 ' Well, let us try what we can do together,' said 
 the Duchess brightly, as she cracked the long lash of 
 the short-handled whip with silver whistle, which she 
 used to call in her dogs. But the moment they 
 turned to walk together, he began to talk of his love, 
 and how sad it would be for her to live alone ; and
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 229 
 
 ended by offering himself, after his own fashion, 
 straight out and with no circumlocutions. The 
 Duchess, with a quick movement of pride, threw up 
 her head, grasping her whip handle tightly, as if to 
 strike the insolent fellow who dared to talk to her as 
 he might to a super at the opera. But the insult 
 was also a compliment, and there was pleasure as 
 well as anger in her blush. Danjou steadily urged 
 his point, and tried to dazzle her with his polished 
 wit, pretending to treat the matter less as a love 
 affair than as an intellectual partnership. A man 
 like himself and a woman like her might command 
 the world. 
 
 ' Many thanks, my dear Danjou ; such specious 
 reasoning is not new to me. I am suffering from it 
 still.' Then with a haughty wave of her hand, which 
 allowed no reply, she pointed out the shady path 
 which the dramatist was to follow, and said, ' Look 
 for your denouement ; I am going in.' He stood 
 where he was, completely disconcerted, and gazed 
 at her beautiful carriage as she walked away. 
 
 ' Not even as zebra ? ' he said, in a tone of appeal. 
 
 She looked round, her black brows meeting. 
 ' Ah, yes, you are right ; the post is vacant' Her 
 thoughts went to Lavaux, the base underling for 
 whom she had done so much, and without a smile 
 she answered in a weary voice, ' Zebra, if you like.'
 
 23O ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 
 
 Then she vanished behind a little group of fine 
 yellow roses a little overblown, whose leaves would 
 be scattered at the first fresh breeze. 
 
 It was something to boast of that the proud 
 Mari' Anto' had heard him through. Probably no 
 other man, not even her Prince, had ever spoken to 
 her thus. Full of the inspiration of hope, and stimu- 
 lated by the fine speeches he had just thrown off, the 
 dramatist soon hit upon his final scene. He was 
 going back to write it out before breakfast, when he 
 stopped short in surprise at seeing through the 
 branches ' the Prince's ' windows open to the sunlight. 
 Who was coming ? What favourite guest was to be 
 honoured with those convenient and luxurious rooms, 
 looking over the river and the park ? He made in- 
 quiries, and was reassured. It was her Grace's 
 architect ; he was coming to the castle after an 
 illness. Considering the intimacy between the lady 
 and the Astiers, nothing was more natural than that 
 Paul should be entertained like a son of the house in 
 a mansion which he had more or less created. Still, 
 when the new arrival took his seat at breakfast, his 
 chastened delicacy of feature, his paleness the paler 
 by a white silk kerchief — his duel, his wound, and the 
 general flavour of romance surrounding him seemed 
 to make so keen an impression on the ladies, and 
 called forth such affectionate interest and care on the
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 23 1 
 
 part of the Duchess herself, that handsome Danjou, 
 being one of those all-engrossing persons to whom 
 any other man's success seems a personal loss, if not 
 downright robbery, felt a jealous pang. With his eyes 
 on his plate he took advantage of his position by the 
 hostess to murmur some depreciatory remarks upon 
 the pretty young fellow, unfortunately so much dis- 
 figured by his mother's nose. He made merry over 
 his duel, his wound, and his reputation in the fencing- 
 room, the kind of bubble which bursts at the first prick 
 of a real sword. He added, not knowing how near he 
 was to the truth, ' The quarrel at cards was of course 
 a mere pretext ; there was a woman at the bottom 
 of it.' 
 
 1 Of the duel ? Do you think so ? ' His nod said 
 ' I am sure of it' Much admiring his own clever- 
 ness, he turned to the company, and dazzled them 
 with his epigrams and anecdotes. He never went 
 into society without providing himself with a store of 
 these pocket squibs. Paul was no match for him 
 here, and the ladies' interest soon reverted to the 
 brilliant talker, especially when he announced that, 
 having got his denouement and finished his play, he 
 would read it in the drawing-room while it was too 
 hot to go out. A universal exclamation of delight 
 from the ladies welcomed this invaluable relief to the 
 day's monotony. What a precious privilege for
 
 232 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 them, proud as they were already of dating their 
 letters from Mousseaux, to be able to send to all their 
 dear friends, who were not there, accounts of an un- 
 published play by Danjou, read by Danjou himself, 
 and then next winter to be in a position to say when 
 the rehearsals were going on, ' Oh, Danjou's play ! I 
 know it ; he read it to us at the castle.' 
 
 As the company rose, full of excitement at this 
 good news, the Duchess went towards Paul, and 
 taking his arm with her graceful air of command 
 said, ' Come for a turn on the gallery ; it is stifling 
 here.' The air was heavy even at the height of the 
 gallery, for there rose from the steaming river a mist 
 of heat, which overspread and blurred the irregular 
 green outlines of its banks and of its low floating 
 islands. She led the young man away from the 
 smokers right to the end of the furthest bay, and 
 then clasping his hand said, ' So it was for me ; it 
 was all for me.' 
 
 ' Yes, Duchess, for you.' 
 
 And he pursed his lips as he added, ' And pre- 
 sently we shall have another try.' 
 
 ' You must not say that, you naughty boy.' 
 
 She stopped, as an inquisitive footstep came 
 towards them. ' Danjou ! ' 
 
 'Yes, Duchess.' 
 
 ' My fan ... on the dining-room table . . . would
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 233 
 
 you be so kind ? . . .' When he was some way off, 
 she said, ' I will not have it, Paul. In the first place, 
 the creature is not worth fighting. Ah, if we were 
 alone — if I could tell you ! ' The fierceness of her 
 tone and the clenching of her hands betrayed a rage 
 "that amazed Paul Astier. After a month he had 
 hoped to find her calmer than this. It was a dis- 
 appointment, and it checked the explosion, ' I love you 
 — I have always loved you,' which was to have been 
 forced from him at the first confidential interview. He 
 was only telling the story of the duel, in which she 
 was very much interested, when the Academician 
 brought her fan. ' Well fetched, zebra ! ' she said by 
 way of thanks. With a little pout he answered in 
 the same strain but a lowered voice, ' A zebra on 
 promotion, you know ! ' 
 
 ' What, wanting to be raised already ! ' She 
 tapped him with her fan as she spoke, and anxious 
 to put him in a good temper for his reading, let him 
 escort her back to the drawing-room, where his manu- 
 script was lying ready on a dainty card-table in the 
 full light of a high window partly open, showing the 
 flower-garden and the groups of great trees. 
 
 ' Appearances. A Drama in Three Acts. Dramatis 
 Persona. . . . ' 
 
 The ladies, getting as close round as they could, 
 drew themselves together with the charming little
 
 234 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 shiver which is their way of anticipating enjoyment. 
 Danjou read like a genuine ' Player ' of Picheral's 
 classification, making lengthy pauses while he mois- 
 tened his lips with his glass of water, and wiped them 
 with a fine cambric handkerchief. As he finished 
 each of the long broad pages, scribbled all over with 
 his tiny handwriting, he let it fall carelessly at his 
 feet on the carpet. Each time Madame de Foder, 
 who hunts the ' lions ' of all nations, stooped noise- 
 lessly, picked up the fallen sheet, and placed it 
 reverently upon an armchair beside her, exactly square 
 with the sheets before, contriving, in this subtle and 
 delicate way, to take a certain part in the great man's 
 work. It was as if Liszt or Rubinstein had been at 
 the piano and she had been turning over the music. 
 All went well till the end of Act I., an interesting 
 and promising introduction, received with a furore 
 of delighted exclamations, rapturous laughter, and 
 enthusiastic applause. After a long pause, in which 
 was audible from the far distance of the park the hum 
 of the insects buzzing about the tree-tops, the reader 
 wiped his moustache, and resumed : 
 
 Act II. The scene represents . . . But here his 
 voice began to break, and grew huskier with every 
 speech. He had just seen an empty chair among the 
 ladies in the first row ; it was Anton ia's chair ; and 
 his glances strayed over his eye-glass searching the
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 235 
 
 whole huge room. It was full of green plants and 
 screens, behind which the auditors had ensconced 
 themselves to hear — or to sleep — undisturbed. At 
 last, in one of the numerous and regular intervals 
 provided by his glass of water, he caught a whisper, 
 then a glimpse of a light dress, then, at the far end, 
 on a sofa, he saw the Duchess with Paul beside 
 her, continuing the conversation interrupted on the 
 gallery. To one like Danjou, spoiled with every 
 kind of success, the affront was deadly. But he nerved 
 himself to finish the Act, throwing his pages down on 
 the floor with a violence which made them fly, and 
 sent little Madame de Foder crawling after them on 
 all fours. At the end of the Act, as the whispering 
 still went on, he left off, pretending that he was 
 suddenly taken hoarse and must defer the rest till the 
 next day. The Duchess, absorbed in the duel, of which 
 she could not hear enough, supposed the play con- 
 cluded, and cried from the distance, clapping her little 
 hands, ' Bravo, Danjou, the denouement is delicious.' 
 
 That evening the great man had, or said he had, 
 a bilious attack, and very early next morning he left 
 Mousseaux without seeing any one again. Perhaps it 
 was only the vexation of an author ; perhaps he truly 
 believed that young Astier was going to succeed the 
 Prince. However that may be, a week after he had 
 gone Paul had not got beyond an occasional whispered
 
 236 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 word. The lady showed him the utmost kindness, 
 treated him with the care of a mother, asked after his 
 health, whether he did not find the tower looking 
 south too hot, whether the shaking of the carriage 
 tired him, whether it was not too late for him to stay- 
 on the river. But the moment he tried to mention 
 the word ' love,' she was off without seeming to under- 
 stand. Still he found her a very different creature 
 from the proud Antonia of other years. Then, 
 haughty and calm, she would show impertinence his 
 place by a mere frown. It was the serenity of a 
 majestic river flowing between its embankments. But 
 now the embankment was giving way ; there seemed 
 to be a crack somewhere, through which was break- 
 ing the real nature of the woman. She had fits of 
 rebellion against custom and social convention, which 
 hitherto she had respected scrupulously, sudden 
 desires to go somewhere else, and to tire herself in 
 some long excursion. She planned festivities, fire- 
 works, great coursing expeditions for the autumn, in 
 which she would take the lead, though it was years 
 since she had been on horseback. Paul watched 
 carefully the vagaries of her excitement, and kept his 
 sharp hawk's-eye upon everything ; he had quite 
 made up his mind not to dangle for two years, as he 
 had round Colette de Rosen. 
 
 One night the party had broken up early, after a
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 237 
 
 tiring day of driving in the neighbourhood. Paul had 
 gone up to his room, and having thrown off his coat 
 was sitting in his slippers smoking a cigar and writing 
 to his mother a carefully studied epistle. Mamma 
 was staying at Clos Jallanges, and wearing her eyes 
 out with looking across the winding river into the 
 extreme distance for a glimpse of the four towers of 
 Mousseaux : and he had to convince her that there 
 was no chance of a reconciliation at present between 
 her and her friend, and that they had better not meet. 
 (No, no ! His good mother was much too fond of fish- 
 ing on her own hook to be a desirable associate !) 
 He had to remind her of the bill due at the end of 
 the month, and her promise to send the money to 
 good little Stenne, who had been left in the Rue 
 Fortuny as sole garrison of the mediaeval mansion. 
 If Sammy's money had not yet come in, she might 
 borrow of the Freydets, who would not refuse to 
 advance it for a few days. That very morning the 
 Paris papers in their foreign news had announced the 
 marriage of the French Ambassador at St. Petersburg, 
 mentioned the presence of the Grand Duke, described 
 the bride's dresses, and given the name of the Polish 
 Bishop who had bestowed his blessing on the happy 
 pair. Mamma might imagine how the breakfast party 
 at Mousseaux was affected by this news, known to 
 every one, and read by the hostess in the eyes of her
 
 238 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 guests and in their persistent conversation on other 
 topics. 
 
 The poor Duchess, who had hardly spoken during 
 the meal, felt, when it was over, that she must rouse 
 herself, and in spite of the heat had carried off all 
 her visitors in three carriages to the Chateau de la 
 Poissonniere, where the poet Ronsard was born. Ten 
 miles' drive in the sun on a road all cracks and dust, 
 for the pleasure of hearing that hideous old Lani- 
 boire, hoisted on to an old stump as decayed as 
 himself, recite 'Mignonne, ailons voir si la rose.' On 
 the way home they had paid a visit to the Agricul- 
 tural Orphanage and Training School founded by old 
 Padovani. Mamma must know it all well ; they had 
 been over the dormitory and laundry, and inspected 
 the implements and the copy-books ; and the whole 
 place was so hot and smelly ; and Laniboire made 
 a speech to the Agricultural Orphans, cropped like 
 convicts, in which he assured them that the world 
 was good. To finish themselves up they stopped 
 again at the furnaces near Onzain, and spent an hour 
 between the heat of the setting sun and the smoke 
 and smell of coal from three huge belching brick 
 chimneys, stumbling over the rails and dodging the 
 trucks and shovels full of molten metal in gigantic 
 masses, which dropped fire like dissolving blocks of red 
 ice. All the time the Duchess went on unwearied, but
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 239 
 
 looked at nothing, listened to nothing. She seemed 
 to be having an animated discussion with old Bretigny, 
 whose arm she had taken, and paid as little attention 
 to the furnaces and forges as to the poet Ronsard or 
 the Agricultural Orphanage. 
 
 Paul had reached this point in his letter, painting 
 with terrible force, to console his mother for her 
 absence, the dullness of life this year at Mousseaux, 
 when he heard a gentle knock at his door. He 
 thought it was the young critic, or the Vicomte 
 de Bretigny, or perhaps Laniboire, who had been 
 very unquiet of late. All these had often prolonged 
 the evening in his room, which was the largest and 
 most convenient, and had a dainty smoking-room 
 attached to it. He was very much surprised on 
 opening his door to see by the light of the painted 
 windows that the long corridor of the first floor 
 was absolutely silent and deserted, right away to 
 the guard-room, where a ray of moonlight showed 
 the outline of the carving on the massive door. He 
 was going back to his seat, when there came another 
 knock. It came from the smoking-room, which com- 
 municated by a little door under the hangings with a 
 narrow passage in the thickness of the wall leading 
 to the rooms of the Duchess. The arrangement, 
 dating much earlier than the restorations, was not 
 known to him : and, as he remembered certain con-
 
 240 ONE OF THE 'FORTY 1 
 
 versations during the last few days, when the men 
 were alone, and especially some of the stories of old 
 Laniboire, his first thought was ' Whew ! I hope she 
 did not hear us.' He drew the bolt and the Duchess 
 passed him without a word, and laying down on the 
 table where he had been writing a bundle of yellowish 
 papers, with which her delicate fingers played ner- 
 vously, she said in a serious voice : 
 
 ' I want you to give me your advice ; you are my 
 friend, and I have no one else to confide in.' 
 
 No one but him — poor woman ! And she did 
 not take warning from the cunning watchful predatory 
 glance, which shifted from the letter, imprudently left 
 open on the table where she might have read it, to 
 herself as she stood there with her arms bare and 
 heavy hair coiled round and round her head. He was 
 thinking, ' What does she want ? What has she come 
 for ? ' She, absorbed in the requickened wrath which 
 had been rising and choking her since the morning, 
 panted out in low broken sentences, ' Just before you 
 came, he sent Lavaux — he did ! he sent Lavaux — to 
 ask for his letters ! — I gave his impudent cheeks such 
 a reception that he won't come again. — His letters, 
 indeed ! — these are what he wanted.' 
 
 She held out the roll, her brief, as it might be 
 called, against the partner of her affections, showing 
 what she had paid to raise the man out of the gutter.
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 24I 
 
 1 Take them, look at them ! They are really quite 
 interesting ! ' He turned over the odd collection, 
 smelling now of the boudoir, but better suited to Bos's 
 shop-front ; there were mortgageable debts to dealers 
 in curiosities, private jewellers, laundresses, yacht- 
 builders, agents for imitation-champagne from Tou- 
 raine, receipts from stewards and club-waiters, in short, 
 every device of usury by which a man about Paris 
 comes to bankruptcy. Mari' Anto muttered under 
 her breath, • The restoration of this gentleman cost 
 more than Mousseaux, you see ! . . . I have had all 
 these things in a drawer for years, because I never 
 destroy anything ; but I solemnly declare that I never 
 thought of using them. Now I have changed my 
 mind. He is rich. I want my money and interest. 
 If he does not pay, I will take proceedings. Don't 
 you think I am justified ? ' 
 
 1 Entirely justified,' said Paul, stroking the point 
 of his fair beard, ' only — was not the Prince d'Athis 
 incapable of contracting when he signed these bills ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, yes, I know . . . Br^tigny told me about 
 that ... for as he could get nothing through Lavaux, 
 he wrote to Bretigny to ask him to arbitrate. A 
 fellow Academician, you know ! ' She laughed a 
 laugh of impartial scorn for the official dignities of 
 the Ambassador and the ex-Minister. Then she 
 burst out indignantly, ' It is true that I need not 
 
 R
 
 242 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 
 
 have paid, but I chose he should be clean. I don't 
 want any arbitration. I paid and will be paid back, 
 or else I go into court, where the name and title of 
 our representative at St. Petersburg will be dragged 
 through the dirt. If I can only degrade the wretch, 
 I shall have won the suit I care about.' 
 
 1 1 can't understand,' said Paul as he put down 
 the packet so as to hide the awkward letter to 
 Mamma, ' I can't understand how such proofs should 
 have been left in your hands by a man as clever ' 
 
 ' As D'Athis ? ' 
 
 The shrug of her shoulders sufficiently completed 
 the interjection. But the madness of a woman's 
 anger may always lead to something, so he drew her 
 on. ' Yet he was one of our best diplomatists.' 
 
 ' It was I who put him up to it. He knows 
 nothing of the business but what I taught him.' 
 
 She hid her face, as for shame, in her hands, 
 checking her sobs and gasping with fury. ' To think, 
 to think, twelve years of my life to a man like that ! 
 And now he leaves me; he casts me off! Cast off 
 by him ! Cast off by him ! ' 
 
 It is some hours later, and she is still there. The 
 young man is upon his knees and is whispering ten-
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 243 
 
 derly : ' When you know that I love you — when you 
 know that I loved you always. Think, think ! ' The 
 striking of a clock is heard in the far distance and 
 wakening sounds go by in the growing light. She 
 flies in dismay from the room, not caring so much as 
 to take with her the brief of her intended revenge. 
 
 Revenge herself now ? On whom ? and what for? 
 There was an end of her hatred now, for had she not 
 her love ? From this day she was another woman, 
 such an one as when she is seen with her lover or her 
 husband, supporting her unhasty steps upon the 
 tender cradle of his arm, makes the common people 
 say, ' Well, she has got what she wants.' There are 
 not so many of them as people think, particularly in 
 society. Not that the mistress of a great house 
 could be thinking exclusively of her own happiness ; 
 there were guests going away and other guests arriv- 
 ing and settling in, a second instalment, more nume- 
 rous and less intimate, the whole in fact of the 
 Academic set. There were the Duke de Courson- 
 Launay, the Prince and Princess de Fitz-Roy, the 
 De Circourts, the Huchenards, Saint-Avol the 
 diplomatist, Moser and his daughter, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Henry of the American embassy. It was a hard 
 task to provide entertainment and occupation for 
 all these people and to fuse such different elements. 
 No one understood the business better than she, but 
 
 R 2
 
 244 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 just now it was a burden and a weariness to her. 
 She would have liked to keep quiet and meditate on 
 her happiness, to think of nothing else : and she could 
 devise no other amusements for her guests than the 
 invariable visit to the fish preserves, to Ronsard's 
 castle, and to the Orphanage. Her own pleasure was 
 complete when her hand touched Paul's, as accident 
 brought them together in the same boat or the same 
 carriage. 
 
 In the course of one such pompous expedition on 
 the river, the little fleet from Mousseaux, sailing on a 
 shimmering mirror of silken awnings and ducal pen- 
 nons, had gone somewhat further than usual. Paul 
 Astier was in the boat in front of his lady's. He 
 was sitting in the stern beside Laniboire, and was 
 receiving the Academician's confidences. Having 
 been invited to stay at Mousseaux till his report was 
 finished, the old fool fancied that he was making good 
 progress towards the coveted succession ; and as 
 always happens in such cases, he chose Paul as the 
 confidant of his hopes. After telling him what he had 
 said and what she had answered, and one thing and 
 another, he was just saying, ' Now, young man, what 
 would you do, if you were me ? ' when a clear voice of 
 low pitch rang over the water from the boat behind 
 them. 
 
 ' Monsieur Astier!'
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 245 
 
 1 Yes, Duchess.' 
 
 1 See yonder, among the reeds. It looks like 
 Vedrine.' 
 
 Vedrine it was, painting away, with his wife and 
 children at his side, on an old flat-bottomed boat 
 moored to a willow branch alongside of a green islet, 
 where the wagtails were chirping themselves hoarse. 
 The boats drew quickly up beside him, any novelty 
 being a break to the everlasting tedium of fashionable 
 society : and while the Duchess greeted with her 
 sweetest smile Madame Vedrine, who had once been 
 her guest at Mousseaux, the ladies looked with in- 
 terest at the artist's strange home and the beautiful 
 children, born of its light and its love, as they lay in 
 the shelter of their green refuge on the clear, placid 
 stream, which reflected the picture of their happiness. 
 After the first greetings, Vedrine, palette in hand, 
 gave Paul an account of the doings at Clos Jallanges, 
 which was visible through the mists of the river, 
 half-way up the hill side — a long low white house 
 with an Italian roof. ' My dear fellow, they have all 
 gone crazy there ! The vacancy has turned their 
 heads. They spend their days ticking votes — your 
 mother, Picheral, and the poor invalid in her wheel- 
 chair. She too has caught the Academic fever, and 
 talks of moving to Paris, entertaining and giving 
 parties to help her brother on.' So Vedrine, to escape
 
 246 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 the general madness, camped out all day and worked 
 in the open air— children and all; and pointing to 
 his old boat he said, with a simple unresentful laugh, 
 ' My dahabeeah, you see ; my trip to the Nile.' 
 
 All at once the little boy, who in the midst of so 
 many people, so many pretty ladies and pretty 
 dresses, had eyes for no one but old Laniboire, 
 addressed him in a clear voice, ' Please, are you the 
 gentleman of the Academie who is going to be a 
 hundred ?' The philosopher, occupied in showing off 
 his boating for the benefit of the fair Antonia, was 
 all but knocked off his seat : and when the peals of 
 laughter had somewhat subsided, V<fdrine explained 
 that the child was strangely interested in Jean Rehu, 
 whom he did not know and had never seen, merely 
 because he was nearly a hundred years old. Every 
 day the handsome little boy asked about the old man 
 and inquired how he was. Child as he was, he 
 admired such length of days with something of a 
 personal regard. If others had lived to a hundred, 
 why not he ? 
 
 But a sudden freshening of the breeze filled the 
 sails of the little craft, and fluttered all the tiny 
 pennons ; a mass of clouds was moving up from over 
 Blois, and towards Mousseaux a film of rain 
 dimmed the horizon, while the four lights on the 
 top of the towers sparkled against the black sky.
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 247 
 
 There was a moment of hurry and confusion. Then 
 the vessels went away between the banks of yellow 
 sand, one behind the other in the narrow channels ; 
 while Vedrine, pleased by the brightness of the colours 
 beneath the stormy sky and by the striking figures of 
 the boatmen, standing in the bows and leaning hard 
 on their long poles, turned to his wife, who was kneel- 
 ing in the punt packing in the children, the colour- 
 box, and the palette, and said, 'Look over there, 
 mamma. I sometimes say of a friend, that we are in 
 the same boat. Well, there you may see what I mean. 
 As those boats fly in line through the wind, with the 
 darkness coming down, so are we men and workers, 
 generation after generation. It's no use being shy of 
 the fellows in your own boat ; you know them, you 
 rub up against them, you are friends without wishing 
 it or even knowing it, all sailing on the same tack. 
 But how the fellows in front do loiter and get in the 
 way ! There's nothing in common between their boat 
 and ours. We are too far off, we cannot catch what 
 they say. We never trouble about them except to call 
 out " Go ahead ; get on, do! " Meanwhile youth in the 
 boat behind is pushing us ; they would not mind run- 
 ning us down ; and we shout to them angrily, " Easy 
 there ! Where's the hurry ? " Well, as for me,' and he 
 drew himself to his full height, towering above the 
 line of coast and river, ' I belong, of course, to my own
 
 248 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 boat and I am fond of it. But the boat just ahead 
 and the one coming up interest me not less. I would 
 hail them, signal to them, speak to them all. All of 
 us alike, those before and those behind, are threatened 
 by the same dangers, and every boat finds the current 
 strong, the sky treacherous, and the evening quick to 
 close in . . . Now, my dears, we must make haste ; 
 here comes the rain ! '
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 249 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ' Pray for the repose of the soul of the most noble 
 Lord, the Duke Charles Henri Francois Padovani, 
 Prince d'Olmiitz, formerly Member of the Senate, 
 Ambassador and Minister, Grand Cross of the Legion 
 of Honour, who departed this life September 20, 
 1880, at his estate of Barbicaglia, where his remains 
 have been interred. A mass for the deceased will be 
 celebrated on Sunday next in the private chapel, 
 where you are invited to attend.' 
 
 This quaint summons was being proclaimed on 
 both banks of the Loire, between Mousseaux and 
 Onzain, by mourners hired from Vafflard's, wearing 
 tall hats with crape mufflers that reached the ground, 
 and ringing their heavy bells as they walked. Paul 
 Astier, hearing the words as he came downstairs to 
 the midday breakfast, felt his heart beat high with 
 joy and pride. Four days ago the news of the Duke's 
 death had startled Mousseaux as the report of a gun 
 startles a covey of partridges, and had unexpectedly 
 dispersed and scattered the second instalment of 
 guests to various seaside and holiday resorts. The
 
 250 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 Duchess had had to set off at once for Corsica, 
 leaving at the castle only a few very intimate friends. 
 The melancholy sound of the voices and moving 
 bells, carried to Paul's ear by a breeze from the river 
 through the open panes of the staircase window, the 
 antiquated and princely form of the funeral invitation, 
 could not but invest the domain of Mousseaux with 
 an impressive air of grandeur, which added to the 
 height of its four towers and its immemorial trees. 
 And as all this was to be his (for the Duchess on 
 leaving had begged him to stay at the castle, as there 
 were important decisions to be taken on her return), 
 the proclamation of death sounded in his ears like 
 the announcement of his approaching installation. 
 ' Pray for the repose of the soul,' said the voices. At 
 last he really had fortune within his grasp, and this 
 time it should not be taken from him. ' Member of 
 the Senate, Ambassador and Minister,' said the voices 
 again. 
 
 ' Those bells are depressing, are they not, Monsieur 
 Paul ? ' said Mdlle. Moser who was sitting at breakfast 
 between her father and the Academician Laniboire. 
 The Duchess had kept these guests at Mousseaux, 
 partly to amuse Paul's solitude and partly to give a 
 little more rest and fresh air to the poor ' Antigone,' 
 kept in bondage by the interminable candidature of 
 her father. There was certainly no fear that the
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 25 1 
 
 Duchess would find a rival in this woman, who had 
 eyes like a beaten hound, hair without colour, and no 
 other thought but her humiliating petition for the 
 unattainable place in the Academic. But on this 
 particular morning she had taken more pains than 
 usual with her appearance, and wore a bright dress 
 open at the neck. The poor neck was very thin and 
 lean, but— there was no higher game. So Laniboire, 
 in high spirits, was teasing her with a gay freedom. 
 No, he did not think the death-bells at all depressing, 
 nor the repetition of ' Pray for the repose,' as it died 
 away in the distance. No, life seemed to him by 
 contrast more enjoyable than usual, the Vouvray 
 sparkled more brightly in the decanters, and his good 
 stories had a telling echo in the huge half-empty 
 dining-room. The sodden subservient face of Moser 
 the candidate wore a fawning smile, though he wished 
 his daughter away. But the philosopher was a man 
 of great influence in the Academic 
 
 After coffee had been served on the terrace, 
 Laniboire, with his face coloured like a Redskin, 
 called out, ' Now let's go and work, Mdlle. Moser ; I 
 feel quite in the humour. I believe I shall finish my 
 report to-day.' The gentle little lady, who some- 
 times acted as his secretary, rose with some regret. 
 On a delicious day like this, hazy with the first mists 
 of autumn, a good walk, or perhaps a continuation on
 
 252 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 the gallery of her talk with the charming and well- 
 mannered M. Paul, would have pleased her better 
 than writing at old M. Laniboire's dictation com- 
 mendations of devoted hospital-nurses or exemplary 
 attendants. But her father urged her to go, as the 
 great man wanted her. She obeyed and went 
 upstairs behind Laniboire, followed by old Moser, 
 who was going to have his afternoon nap. 
 
 Laniboire may have had Pascal's nose, but he 
 had not his manners. When Paul came back from 
 cooling his ambitious hopes by a long walk in the 
 woods, he found the break waiting at the foot of the 
 steps in the great court. The two fine horses were 
 pawing the ground, and Mdlle. Moser was inside, 
 surrounded by boxes and bags, while Moser, looking 
 bewildered, stood on the doorstep, feeling in his 
 pockets and bestowing coins on two or three sneering 
 footmen. Paul went up to the carriage, ' So you are 
 leaving us, Mademoiselle.' She gave him a thin 
 clammy hand, on which she had forgotten to put a 
 glove, and without saying a word, or removing the 
 handkerchief with which she was wiping her eyes 
 under her veil, she bent her head in sign of good-bye. 
 He learnt little more from old Moser, who stam- 
 mered out in a low voice, as he stood vexed and 
 gloomy, with one foot on the step of the carriage 
 ' It's her doing : she will go. He was rude to her
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 253 
 
 she says, but I can't believe it.' Then with a pro- 
 found sigh, and knitting the wrinkle in his brow, the 
 deep, red, scar-like wrinkle of the Academic candi- 
 date, he added, ' It's a very bad thing for my election.' 
 
 Laniboire stayed all the afternoon in his room, 
 and at dinner, as he took his seat opposite Paul, he 
 said, ' Do you know why our friends the Mosers went 
 off so suddenly ? ' 
 
 1 No, sir, do you ? ' 
 
 ' It's very strange, very strange.' 
 
 He assumed an air of great composure for the 
 benefit of the servants, but it was obvious that he 
 was disturbed, worried, and in desperate fear of a 
 scandal. Gradually he regained his serenity and 
 satisfaction, not being able to think ill of life at 
 dinner, and ended by admitting to his young friend 
 that he had perhaps been a little too attentive. 
 ' But it is her father's fault ; he pesters me ; and even 
 an awarder of good-conduct prizes has his feelings, 
 eh?' He lifted his glass of liqueur with a trium- 
 phant flourish, cut short by Paul's remark, ' What 
 will the Duchess say ? Of course Mdlle. Moser 
 must have written to her to explain why she left.' 
 
 Laniboire turned pale. 'Really, do you think 
 she did?' 
 
 Paul pressed the point, in the hopes of ridding 
 himself of such a far from gay gallant. If the lady
 
 254 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 had not written, there was the chance that a servant 
 might say something. Then, wrinkling his deceitful 
 little nose, he said, ' If I were you, my dear sir ' 
 
 1 Pooh, pooh ! Nonsense ! I may get a scolding, 
 but it won't really do me any harm.' 
 
 But in spite of his assumed confidence, the day 
 before the Duchess returned, upon the pretext that 
 the election to the Academie was coming on, and 
 that the damp evenings were bad for his rheumatism, 
 he went off, taking in his portmanteau his completed 
 report on the prizes for good-conduct. 
 
 The Duchess arrived for Sunday's mass, celebrated 
 with great magnificence in the Renaissance chapel, 
 where Vedrine's versatility had restored both the fine 
 stained glass and the wonderful carving of the rere- 
 dos. A huge crowd from the villages of the neigh- 
 bourhood filled the chapel to overflowing, and 
 gathered in the great court. Everywhere were awk- 
 ward fellows in hideous black coats, and long blue 
 blouses shining from the iron, everywhere white caps 
 and kerchiefs stiff with starch round sunburnt necks. 
 All these people were brought together not by the 
 religious ceremony, nor by the honours paid to the 
 old Duke, who was unknown in the district, but by 
 the open-air feast which was *o follow the mass. 
 The long tables and benches were arranged on both 
 sides of the long lordly avenue ; and here, after the
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 255 
 
 service, between two and three thousand peasants 
 had no difficulty in finding room. At fir^t there was 
 some constraint ; the guests, overawed by the troop 
 of servants in mourning and the rangers with crape 
 on their caps, spoke in whispers under the shadow ot 
 the majestic elms. But as they warmed with the 
 wine and the victuals, the funeral feast grew more 
 lively, and ended in a vast merrymaking. 
 
 To escape this unpleasant carnival, the Duchess 
 and Paul went for a drive, sweeping rapidly in an 
 open carriage draped with black along the roads and 
 fields, abandoned to the desertion of Sunday. The 
 mourning cockades of the tall footmen and the long 
 veil of the widow opposite reminded the young 
 man of other similar drives. He thought to himself, 
 ' My destiny seems to lie in the way of dead hus- 
 bands.' He felt a touch of regret at the thought 
 of Colette de Rosen's little curly head, contrasting so 
 brightly with the black mass of her surroundings. 
 The Duchess however, tired as she was by her 
 journey, and looking stouter than usual in her impro- 
 vised mourning, had a magnificence of manner entirely 
 wanting in Colette, and besides, her dead husband 
 did not embarrass her, for she was much too frank to 
 feign a grief which ordinary women think necessary 
 under such circumstances, even when the deceased 
 has been cordially detested and completely aban-
 
 256 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 doned. The road rang under the horses' hoofs, as it 
 unrolled before them, climbing or descending gentle 
 slopes, bordered now by little oak plantations, now 
 by huge plains which, in the neighbourhood of the 
 isolated mills, were swept by circling flights of crows. 
 A pale sunlight gleamed through rare gaps in a sky 
 soft, rainy, and low : and to protect them from the wind 
 as they drove, the same wrap enveloped them both, so 
 that their knees were closely pressed together under 
 the furs. The Duchess was talking of her native 
 Corsica, and of a wonderful vocero which had been 
 improvised at the funeral by her maid. 
 
 ' Matea ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, Matea. She's quite a poet, fancy ' — and the 
 Duchess quoted some of the lines of the voceratrice, 
 in the spirited Corsican dialect, admirably suited to 
 her contralto voice. But to the ' important decision ' 
 she did not refer. 
 
 But it was the important decision that interested 
 Paul Astier, and not the verses of the lady's-maid. 
 No doubt it would be discussed that evening. To 
 pass the time, he told her, in a low tone, how he had 
 got rid of Laniboire. ' Poor little Moser,' said the 
 Duchess, • her father really must be elected this time.' 
 After that they spoke but a word now and then. 
 They only drew together, lulled, as it were, by the 
 gentle movement of the carriage, while the daylight
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 257 
 
 left the darkening fields, and let them see over 
 towards the furnaces sudden flashes of flame and 
 flickering gleams like lightning against the sky. 
 Unfortunately the drive home was spoilt by the 
 drunken cries and songs of the crowds returning from 
 the feast. The peasants got among the wheels of 
 the carriage like cattle, and from the ditches on 
 either side of the road, into which they rolled, came 
 snores and grunts, their peculiar fashion of praying 
 for the repose of the soul of the most noble Lord 
 Duke. 
 
 They walked, as usual, on the gallery, and the 
 Duchess, leaning against Paul's shoulder to look out 
 at the darkness between the massive pillars which cut 
 the dim line of the horizon, murmured, ' This is 
 happiness ! Together, and alone ! ' Still not a word 
 on the subject which Paul was waiting for. He tried 
 to bring her to it, and with his lips in her hair asked 
 what she was going to do in the winter. Should she 
 go back to Paris ? Oh, no ! certainly not. She was 
 sick of Paris and its false society, its disguises and its 
 treachery ! She was still undecided, however, whether 
 to shut herself up at Mousseaux, or to set out on a 
 long journey to Syria and Palestine. What did he 
 think ? Why, this must be the important decision 
 they were to consider ! It had been a mere pretext 
 to keep him there ! She had been afraid that if he
 
 258 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 went back to Paris, and away from her, some one else 
 would carry him off ! Paul, thinking that he had been 
 taken in, bit his lips as he said to himself, 'Oh, if 
 that's your game, my lady, we'll see ! ' Tired by her 
 journey and a long day in the open air, the Duchess 
 bid him good-night and went wearily up to her 
 room. 
 
 The next day they hardly met. The Duchess 
 was busy settling accounts with her steward and her 
 tenants, much to the admiration of Maitre Gobineau, 
 the notary, who observed to Paul as they sat at 
 breakfast, with slyness marked in every wrinkle of 
 his shrivelled old face, ' Ah, it's not easy to get on 
 the blind side of the Duchess ! ' 
 
 ' Little he knows,' was the thought of the 
 Duchess's young pursuer as he played with his light 
 brown beard. But when he heard the hard cold 
 tones which his lady's tender contralto could assume 
 in a business discussion, he felt that he would have to 
 play his cards carefully. 
 
 After breakfast there arrived some trunks from 
 Paris with Spricht's forewoman and two fitters. And 
 at last, about four o'clock, the Duchess appeared in a 
 marvellous costume, which made her look quite young 
 and slim, and proposed a walk in the park. They 
 went along briskly, side by side, keeping to the bye- 
 paths to avoid the noise of the heavy rakes. Three
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 259 
 
 times a day the gardeners struggled against the ac- 
 cumulation of the falling leaves. But in vain ; in an 
 hour the walks were again covered by the same 
 Oriental carpet, richly coloured with purple, green, 
 and bronze ; and their feet rustled in it as they 
 walked under the soft level rays of the sun. The 
 Duchess spoke of the husband who had brought so 
 much sorrow into her youth ; she was anxious to 
 make Paul feel that her mourning was entirely con- 
 ventional and did not affect her feelings. Paul under- 
 stood her object, and smiled coldly, determined to 
 carry out his plan. 
 
 At the lower end of the park they sat down, near 
 a little building hidden behind maples and privet, 
 where the fishing nets and oars of the boats were 
 kept. From their seat they looked across the sloping 
 lawns and the plantations and shrubberies showing 
 patches of gold. The castle, seen in the background, 
 with its long array of closed windows and deserted 
 terraces, lifting its towers and turrets proudly to the 
 sky,s eemed withdrawn, as it were, into the past, and 
 grander than ever. 
 
 ' I am sorry to leave all that,' said Paul, with a 
 sigh. She looked at him in amazement with storm 
 in her knitted brows. Go away ? Did he mean to 
 go away ? Why ? 
 
 1 No help. Such is life.' 
 
 S 2
 
 260 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 ' Are we to part ? And what is to become of me? 
 and the journey we were to make together ? ' 
 
 ' I could not interrupt you ' he said. But how 
 
 could a poor artist like him afford himself a journey to 
 Palestine ? It was an impossible dream, like V^drine's 
 dahabeeah ending in a punt on the Loire. 
 
 She shrugged her aristocratic shoulders, and said, 
 'Why, Paul, what nonsense! You know that all I 
 have is yours.' 
 
 ' Mine ? By what right ? ' 
 
 It was out ! But she did not see yet what he was 
 driving at. Fearing that he had gone too far, he 
 added, ' I mean, what right, in the prejudiced view of 
 society, shall I have to travel with you ? ' 
 
 • Well then, we will stay at Mousseaux.' 
 
 He made her a little mocking bow as he said, 
 1 Your architect has finished his work on the castle.' 
 
 ' Oh, we will find him something to do, if I have 
 to set fire to it to-night ! ' 
 
 She laughed her open-hearted tender laugh, leant 
 against him, and taking his hands pressed them 
 against her cheeks— fond trifling this, not the word 
 which he was waiting for, and trying to make her say. 
 Then he burst out, ' If you love me, Antonia, let me 
 go. I must make a living for myself and mine. 
 Society would not forgive my living on the bounty of 
 a woman who is not and never will be my wife.'
 
 ONE OF THE * FORTY' 26l 
 
 She understood, and closed her eyes as if on the 
 brink of an abyss. In the long silence that followed 
 was heard all over the park the falling of the leaves 
 in the breeze, some still heavy with sap, dropping in 
 bunches from bough to bough, others stealing down 
 with a scarcely audible sound, like the rustling of a 
 dress. Round the little hut, under the maples, it was 
 more like the pattering footsteps of some voiceless 
 crowd which moved around. She rose with a shiver. 
 ' It is cold ; let us go in.' She had made her sacrifice. 
 It would kill her, very probably, but the world should 
 not see the degradation of the Duchess Padovani into 
 Madame Paul Astier, who had married her architect. 
 
 Paul spent the evening in making the obvious 
 arrangements for his departure. He gave orders 
 about his luggage, bestowed princely gratuities upon 
 the servants, and inquired about the time of the 
 trains, chatting away without constraint, but quite 
 unsuccessful in breaking through the gloomy silence 
 of the fair Antonia, who read with absorbed attention 
 a magazine, of which she did not turn the pages. But 
 when he took his leave of her and thanked her for 
 her prolonged and gracious hospitality, in the light 
 of the huge lace lamp-shade he saw on her haughty 
 face a look of anguish, and in her eyes, magnificent 
 as those of a dying lion, a beseeching supplication. 
 
 When he reached his room the young man looked
 
 262 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 to see that the door to the smoking-room was bolted ; 
 then he put out hi; light and waited, sitting quite 
 still on the divan close to the communication. If she 
 did not come, he had made a mistake and must begin 
 again. But there was a slight noise in the private 
 passage, the sound of a gown, then after a momentary 
 surprise at not being able to come straight in, a touch 
 with the tip of a finger, scarcely a knock. He 
 did not move, and paid no attention to a little sig- 
 nificant coughing. Then he heard her go away, with 
 an agitated, uneven step. 
 
 ' Now,' thought he, * she is mine. I can do what 
 I like with her.' And he went quietly to bed. 
 
 'If I were called the Prince d'Athis, would you 
 not have married me when your mourning was over ? 
 Yet D'Athis did not love you, and Paul Astier does. 
 Proud of his love, he would gladly have proclaimed 
 it abroad instead of hiding it as a thing to be ashamed 
 of. Ah, Mari' Anto ! I have awaked from a beau- 
 tiful dream ! Farewell for ever.' 
 
 She read his letter with her eyes hardly open, 
 swollen with the tears she had been shedding all 
 night. ' Is Monsieur Astier gone ? ' The maid who 
 was leaning out of the window to fasten back the 
 shutters that moment caught sight of the carriage 
 that was taking away M. Paul, right at the end of
 
 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 263 
 
 the avenue, too far off to be called back. The 
 Duchess sprang out of bed and flew to the clock. 
 ' Nine o'clock.' The express did not reach Onzain 
 till ten. ' Quick, a messenger — Bertoli, and the best 
 of the horses ! ' By taking the short cut through the 
 woods he could reach the station before the carriage. 
 Whilst her orders were being hastily carried out she 
 wrote a note, standing, without waiting to dress. 
 1 Come back ; all shall be as you wish.' No, that was 
 too cold. That would not bring him back. She 
 tore up the note, wrote another, ' What you will, so 
 long as I am yours,' and signed it with her title. 
 Then, wild at the thought that perhaps even that 
 would not bring him, she cried, ' I'll go myself ! My 
 habit, quick ! ' And she called out of the window to 
 Bertoli, whose horse was by this time waiting im- 
 patiently at the foot of the steps, and gave orders to 
 saddle ' Mademoiselle Oger ' for herself. 
 
 She had not ridden for five years. Her figure 
 had grown stouter, the stitches of the habit gave way, 
 some of the hooks were missing. ' Never mind, 
 Matea, never mind.' She went down the staircase 
 with the train over her arm, between the footmen 
 who stood with blank looks of astonishment, and set 
 off full speed down the avenue, through the gate, into 
 the road, into the wood, and down the cool green 
 paths and long avenues, wliere the wild creatures
 
 264 ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 
 
 fluttered and leapt away as she galloped madly by. 
 She must and will have him. He is her death and 
 life. She has tasted love ; and what else does the 
 world contain ? Leaning forward, she listens for the 
 sound of the train and watches in every distant view 
 for the steam skirting the horizon. If only she is in 
 time ! Poor thing ! She might let her horse walk, 
 and yet she would overtake that handsome runaway 
 He is her evil genius, and he is not to be escaped.
 
 ONE 6F THE 'FORTY' 265 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 From the Vicomte de Freydet 
 
 To Mademoiselle Germaine de Freydet 
 Villa Beausejour, 
 
 Paris-Passy. 
 
 Cafe d'Orsay : 1 1 A.M. at breakfast. 
 
 EVERY two hours, and oftener if I can, I shall send 
 you off an interim despatch like this, as much to re- 
 lieve your anxiety, dearest, as for the pleasure of being 
 with you throughout this great day, which I hope will 
 end with the news of victory, in spite of defections at 
 the last moment. Picheral told me just now of a say- 
 ing of Laniboire's, ' When a man enters the Academie 
 he wears a sword, but he does not draw it,' an allu- 
 sion, of course, to the Astier duel. It was not I who 
 fought, but the creature cares more for his jest than 
 for his promise. Cannot count on Danjou, either. 
 After having said so often to me, " You must join 
 us,' this morning in the secretary's office he came up 
 to me and whispered, ' You should let us miss you,' 
 perhaps the best epigram on his list. Never mind,
 
 266 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 I'm well ahead. My rivals are not formidable 
 Fancy Baron Huchenard, the author of ' Cave Man,' 
 in the Academie Franchise ! Why, Paris would rise ! 
 As for M. Dalzon, I can't think how he has the face. 
 I have got a copy of his too notorious book. I do 
 not like to use it, but he had better be careful. 
 
 2 P.M. 
 
 At the Institute, in my good master's rooms, 
 where I shall await the result of the voting. Perhaps 
 it is pure imagination, but I fancy that my arrival, 
 though they expected me, has put them out here a 
 little. Our friends were finishing breakfast. There 
 was a bustle and banging of doors, and Corentine, 
 instead of showing me into the drawing-room, 
 hustled me into the library, where my old master 
 joined me with an embarrassed air, and in a low 
 voice advised me to keep extremely quiet. He was 
 quite depressed. I asked if he had any bad news. 
 He said first, ' No, no, my dear boy,' and then, 
 grasping my hand, ' Come, cheer up.' For some 
 time past the poor man has been much altered. He 
 is evidently ready to overflow with vexation and 
 sorrow that he will not express. Probably some 
 deep private trouble, quite unconnected with my 
 candidature ; but I am so nervous. 
 
 More than an hour to wait. I am amusing
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 267 
 
 myself by looking across the court through the great 
 bay window of the meeting-room at the long rows of 
 busts. The Academicians ! Is it an omen ? 
 
 2.45 P.M. 
 
 I have just seen all my judges go by, thirty- 
 seven of them, if I counted right. The full number 
 of the Academie, since Epinchard is at Nice, Ripault- 
 Babin in bed, and Loisillon in the grave. It was 
 glorious to see all the distinguished men come 
 into the court ; the younger walking slowly with 
 serious looks and head bent as if under the weight 
 of a responsibility too heavy for them, the old men 
 carrying themselves well and stepping out briskly. 
 A few gouty and rheumatic, like Courson-Launay, 
 drove up to the foot of the steps and leant on the 
 arm of a colleague. They stood about before going 
 up, talking in little knots, and I watched the move- 
 ments of their backs and shoulders and the play of 
 their open hands. What would I not give to hear the 
 last discussion of my prospects ! I opened the window 
 gently, but just then a carriage covered with luggage 
 came clattering into the court, and out got a traveller 
 wrapped in furs and wearing an otter-skin cap. It 
 was Epinchard ; just think, dear, Epinchard arriving 
 from Nice on purpose to vote for me. Good fellow ! 
 Then my old master went by, his broad-brimmed hat
 
 268 ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 
 
 down over his eyes ; he was turning over the copy of 
 ' Without the Veil/ which I gave him, to be used if 
 necessary. Well, self-defence is always legitimate. 
 
 Now there's nothing to see but two carriages 
 waiting and the bust of Minerva keeping guard. 
 Goddess, protect me ! They must be beginning the 
 calling of names, and the interrogatory. Each 
 Academician has to state to the President that his 
 vote is not promised. It's a mere formality, as you 
 may suppose, and they all reply by a smile of denial 
 or a little shake of the head like a Chinese mandarin. 
 
 A most amazing thing has just happened ! I had 
 given my letter to Corentine and was getting a 
 breath of fresh air at the window and trying to read 
 the secret of my fate in the gloomy front of the build- 
 ing opposite, when at the next window to mine I 
 caught sight of Huchenard, airing himself too, quite 
 close to me. Huchenard, my rival— Astier-Rehu's 
 worst enemy, installed in his study ! We were both 
 equally amazed, bowed, and withdrew at the same 
 moment. But there he is, I can hear him, I feel that 
 he is on the other side of the partition. No doubt, 
 like me, he is waiting to hear the decision of the 
 Academie, only he has all the space of ' Villemain's 
 reception-room,' while I am suffocating in this hole 
 crammed full of papers ! Now I understand the con-
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 269 
 
 fusion caused by my arrival. But what is it all 
 about ? What is going on ? My dear Germaine, my 
 head is going ! Which of us is the fool ? 
 
 Lost ! And by treachery, by some mean Aca- 
 demic intrigue which I do not yet understand ! 
 
 First Counting. 
 
 
 
 Baron Huchenard . . . 
 
 • 
 
 17 votes. 
 
 Dalzon 
 
 • 
 
 15 ». 
 
 Vicomte de Freydet . . . 
 
 • 
 
 5 » 
 
 Moser 
 
 « 
 
 1 vote. 
 
 Second Counting. 
 
 
 
 Baron Huchenard 
 
 • 
 
 19 votes. 
 
 Dalzon . . 
 
 » • 
 
 15 » 
 
 Vicomte de Freydet . . . 
 
 • 
 
 3 » 
 
 Moser 
 
 > • 
 
 1 vote. 
 
 Third Counting. 
 
 
 
 Baron Huchenard 
 
 • 
 
 33 votes. 
 
 Dalzon . . • 
 
 • 
 
 4 » 
 
 Vicomte de Freydet . • 
 
 » • 
 
 „ (T!) 
 
 Moser . 
 
 » • 
 
 1 vote. 
 
 It is clear that between the second and third 
 taking of votes the copy of ' Without the Veil ' must 
 have been sent round in the interest of Baron 
 Huchenard. An explanation I must and will have. 
 I won't leave the place till I get it.
 
 270 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 4 P.M. 
 Dearest sister, you may guess my feelings when, 
 after I had heard in the next room M. and Madame 
 Astier, old Rehu, and a stream of visitors congratu- 
 lating the author of 'Cave Man,' the door of the 
 library opened and my old master came in, reaching 
 out his hands and saying, ' My dear boy, forgive 
 me' — between heat and emotion he was nearly 
 speechless — 'forgive me, that man had a hold over 
 me. I had to do it, I had to do it. I thought I 
 could avert the disaster which threatens me, but 
 destiny is not to be escaped, no, not even by a base 
 act.' He held out his arms and I embraced him 
 without the least anger, without indeed quite under- 
 standing the mystery of this bitter grief. 
 
 After all, my own loss is easily retrieved. I have 
 first-rate news of Ripault-Babin. He can hardly live 
 through the week. One more campaign, dear, one more. 
 Unfortunately the Hotel Padovani will be closed all 
 the winter, owing to the Duchess's deep mourning. 
 So for our scene of operations we shall have the ' at 
 home' days of Madame Astier, Madame Ancelin, 
 and Madame Eviza, of whose fashion there is no 
 question since the visit of the Grand Duke. But the 
 first thing, dear Germaine, will be to move. Passy is 
 too far off; the Acad^mie will not go there. You 
 will say I am dragging you about again, but it is so
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 27 1 
 
 important. Just look at Huchenard. He had no 
 claim whatever but his parties. I dine with my 
 dear master ; don't wait for me. 
 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 Abel de Freydet. 
 
 Moser's solitary vote in each counting was given 
 by Laniboire, the man who reports for the good con- 
 duct prizes. They tell a queer story about it. There 
 are strange things under the dome !
 
 272 ONE OF THE 'FORTY 1 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 1 It's a scandal.' 
 
 ' There must be a reply. The Academie cannot 
 be silent under the attack.' 
 
 'What are you thinking of? On the contrary, 
 the dignity of the Academie demands ' 
 
 ' Gentlemen, gentlemen, the real feeling of the 
 Academie is ' 
 
 In their private assembly room, in front of the 
 great chimney-piece and the full-length portrait of 
 Cardinal Richelieu, the 'deities ' were engaged in a dis- 
 cussion preliminary to the meeting. The cold smoke- 
 stained light of a Parisian winter's day, falling through 
 the great lantern overhead, gave effect to the chill 
 solemnity of the marble busts ranged in row along 
 the walls ; and the huge fire in the chimney, nearly 
 as red as the Cardinal's robe, was not enough to warm 
 the little council-chamber or court-house, furnished 
 with green leather seats, long horse-shoe table in front 
 of the desk, and chain-bedecked usher, keeping the 
 entrance near the place of Picheral, the Secretary. 
 
 Generally the best part of the meeting is the
 
 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 273 
 
 quarter of an hour's grace allowed to late-comers. 
 The Academicians gather in groups with their backs 
 to the fire and their coat tails turned up, chatting 
 familiarly in undertones. But on this afternoon the 
 conversation was general and had risen to the utmost 
 violence of public debate, each new comer joining in 
 from the far end of the room, while he signed the 
 attendance list. Some even before entering, while 
 they were still depositing their great coats, comforters, 
 and overshoes in the empty room of the Academie des 
 Sciences, opened the door to join in the cries of 
 ' Shame ! ' and ' Scandalous ! ' 
 
 The cause of all the commotion was this. There 
 had appeared in a morning paper a reprint of a 
 highly disrespectful report made to the Academie of 
 Florence upon Astier-Rehu's ' Galileo ' and the mani- 
 festly apocryphal and absurd (sic) historical documents 
 which were published with it. The report had been 
 sent with the greatest privacy to the President of the 
 Academie Francaise, and for some days there had been 
 considerable excitement at the Institute, where Astier- 
 Rehu's decision was eagerly awaited. He had said 
 nothing but, ' I know, I know ; I am taking the neces- 
 sary steps.' And now suddenly here was this report 
 which they believed to be known only to themselves, 
 hurled at them like a bomb-shell from the outer 
 sheet of one of the most widely circulated of the 
 
 T
 
 274 ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 
 
 Parisian newspapers, and accompanied by remarks 
 insulting to the Permanent Secretary and to the 
 whole Society. 
 
 Furious was the indignant outcry against the 
 impudence of the journalist and the folly of Astier- 
 Rehu, which had brought this upon them. The 
 Academie has not been accustomed to such attacks, 
 since it has prudently opened its doors to ' gentlemen 
 of the Press.' The fiery Laniboire, familiar with every 
 kind of ' sport,' talked of cutting off the gentleman's 
 ears, and it took two or three colleagues to restrain 
 his ardour. 
 
 ' Come, Laniboire ; we wear the sword, but we 
 do not draw it. Why, it's your own epigram, con- 
 found you, though adopted by the Institute.' 
 
 * Gentlemen, you remember that Pliny the Elder, 
 in the thirteenth book of his " Natural History " ' — 
 here arrived Gazan, who came in puffing with his 
 elephantine trot — ' is one of the first writers who 
 mentions counterfeit autographs ; amongst others, a 
 false letter of Priam's on papyrus ' — 
 
 1 Monsieur Gazan has not signed the list,' cried 
 Picheral's sharp falsetto. 
 
 ' Oh, I beg your pardon.' And the fat man went 
 off to sign, still discoursing about papyrus and King 
 Priam, though unheard for the hubbub of angry 
 voices, in which the only word that could be distin-
 
 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 275 
 
 guished was ' Academic' They all talked about the 
 Academic as if it were an actual live person, whose 
 real view each man believed himself alone to know 
 and to express. Suddenly the exclamations ceased, 
 as Astier-Rihu entered, signed his name, and quietly 
 deposited at his place as Permanent Secretary the 
 ensign of his office, carried under his arm. Then 
 moving towards his colleagues he said : 
 
 ' Gentlemen, I have bad news for you. I sent to 
 the Library to be tested the twelve or fifteen thousand 
 documents which made what I called my collection. 
 Well, gentlemen, all are forgeries. The Academie of 
 Florence stated the truth. I am the victim of a 
 stupendous hoax.' 
 
 As he wiped from his brow the great drops of 
 sweat wrung out by the strain of his confession, some 
 one asked in an insolent tone : 
 
 1 Well, and so, Mr. Secretary '— 
 
 'So, M. Danjou, I had no other choice but to 
 bring an action — which is what I have done.' There 
 was a general protest, all declaring that a lawsuit 
 was out of the question and would bring ridicule 
 upon the whole Society, to which he answered that he 
 was exceedingly sorry to disoblige his colleagues, but 
 his mind was made up. 'Besides, the man is in 
 prison and the proceedings have commenced.' 
 
 Never had the private assembly-room heard a roar 
 
 T2
 
 276 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 like that which greeted this statement. Laniboire 
 distinguished himself as usual among the most ex- 
 cited by shouting that the Academie ought to get rid 
 of so dangerous a member. In the first heat of their 
 anger some of the assembly began to discuss the 
 question aloud. Could it be done? Could the 
 Academie say to a member who had brought the 
 whole body into an undignified position, ' Go ! I 
 reverse my judgment. Deity as you are, I relegate 
 you to the rank of a mere mortal ' ? Suddenly, either 
 having caught a few words of the discussion, or by 
 one of those strange intuitions which seem occa- 
 sionally to come as an inspiration to the most 
 hopelessly deaf, old Rehu, who had been keeping to 
 himself, away from the fire for fear of a fit, remarked 
 in his loud unmodulated voice, ' During the Restora- 
 ti ;i, for reasons merely political, we turned out eleven 
 members at once.' The patriarch gave the usual little 
 attesting movement of the head, calling to witness 
 his contemporaries of the period, white busts with 
 vacant eyes standing in rows on pedestals round the 
 room. 
 
 4 Eleven ! whew !' muttered Danjou amid a great 
 silence. And Laniboire, cynical as before, said ' All 
 societies are cowardly ; it's the natural law of self- 
 preservation.' Here Epinchard, who had been busy 
 near the door with Picheral the Secretary, rejoined the 
 rest, and ebserved in a weak voice, between two fits of
 
 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 277 
 
 coughing, that the Permanent Secretary was not the 
 only person to blame in the matter, as would appear 
 from the minutes of the proceedings of July 8, 1879, 
 which should now be read. Picheral from his place, in 
 his thin brisk voice, began at a great pace : On July 8, 
 1879, Leonard- Pierre- Alexandre Astler-Re'hu presented 
 to the Academie Francalse a letter from Rotrou to 
 Cardinal Richelieu respecting the statutes of the 
 Society. The Academie, after an examination of this 
 unpublished and interesting document, passed a vote 
 of thanks to the donor, and decided to enter the letter 
 of Rotrou upon the minutes. The letter Is appended 
 (at this point the Secretary slackened his delivery 
 and put a malicious stress upon each word) with all 
 the errors of the original text, which, being such as occur 
 in ordinary correspondence, confirm the authenticity of 
 the document. All stood motionless in the faded 
 light that came through the glass, avoiding each 
 other's eyes and listening in utter amazement. 
 
 ' Shall I read the letter too ? ' asked Picheral with 
 a smile. He was much amused. 
 
 ' Yes, read the letter too,' said Epinchard. But 
 after a phrase or two there were cries of ' Enough, 
 enough, that will do ! ' They were ashamed of such 
 a letter of Rotrou. It was a crying forgery, a mere 
 schoolboy's imitation, the sentences mis-shapen, and 
 half the words not known at the supposed date. How 
 could they have been so blind ?
 
 278 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 'You see, gentlemen, that we could scarcely throw 
 the whole burden upon our unfortunate colleague,' 
 said Epinchard ; and turning to the Permanent 
 Secretary begged him to abandon proceedings which 
 could bring nothing but discredit upon the whole 
 Society and the great Cardinal himself. 
 
 But neither the fervour of the appeal nor the 
 magnificence of the orator's attitude, as he pointed to 
 the insignia of the Sacred Founder, could prevail over 
 the stubborn resolution of Astier-Rehu. Standing 
 firm and upright before the little table in the middle 
 of the room, which was used as a desk for the reading 
 of communications, with his fists clenched, as if he 
 feared that his decision might be wrung out of his 
 hands, he repeated that • Nothing, I assure you, 
 nothing' would alter his determination. He struck 
 the hard wood angrily with his big knuckles, as he 
 said, ' Ah, gentlemen, I have waited, for reasons like 
 these, too long already ! I tell you, my ' Galileo ' is a 
 bone in my throat ! I am not rich enough to buy it 
 up, and I see it in the shop windows, advertising me 
 as the accomplice of a forger.' What was his object ! 
 Why, to tear out the rotten pages with his own hand 
 and burn them before all the world ! A trial would 
 give him the opportunity. ' You talk of ridicule ? 
 The Acad^mie is above the fear of it ; and as for me, 
 a butt and a beggar as I must be, I shall have the
 
 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 279 
 
 proud satisfaction of having protected my personal 
 honour and the dignity of history. I ask no more.' 
 Honest Crocodilus ! In the beat of his rhetoric was 
 a sound of pure probity, which rang strangely where 
 all around was padded with compromise and conceal- 
 ment. Suddenly the usher announced, c Four o'clock, 
 gentlemen.' Four o'clock ! and they had not finished 
 the arrangements for Ripault-Babin's funeral. 
 
 ' Ah, we must remember Ripault-Babin ! ' observed 
 Danjou in a mocking voice. ' He has died at the 
 right moment!' said Laniboire with mournful em- 
 phasis. But the point of his epigram was lost, for the 
 usher was crying, ' Take your places ' ; and the Presi- 
 dent was ringing his bell. On his right was Des- 
 minieres the Chancellor, and on his left the Permanent 
 Secretary, reading quietly with recovered self-posses- 
 sion the report of the Funeral Committee, to an 
 accompaniment of eager whispers and the pattering 
 of sleet on the glass. 
 
 * How late you went on to-day ! ' remarked Coren- 
 tine, as she opened the door to her master. Corentine 
 was certainly to be reckoned with those who had no 
 great opinion of the Institute. ' M. Paul is in your 
 study with Madame. You must go through the 
 library ; the drawing-room is full of people waiting to 
 see you.'
 
 280 ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 
 
 The library, where nothing was left but the frame 
 of the pigeon-holes, looked as if there had been a 
 fire or a burglary. It depressed him, and he gene- 
 rally avoided it. But to-day he went through it 
 proudly, supported by the remembrance of his re- 
 solve, and of how he had declared it at the meeting. 
 After an effort, which had cost him so much courage 
 and determination, he felt a sweet sense of relief in 
 the thought that his son was waiting for him. He 
 had not seen him since just after the duel, when he 
 had been overcome by the sight of his gallant boy, 
 laid at full length and whiter than the sheet. He 
 was thinking with delight how he would go up to 
 him with open arms, and embrace him, and hold him 
 tight, a long while, and say nothing — nothing ! But 
 as soon as he came into the room and saw the 
 mother and son close together, whispering, with their 
 eyes on the carpet, and their everlasting air of con- 
 spiracy, the affectionate impulse was gone. 
 
 ' Here you are at last ! ' cried Madame Astier, who 
 was dressed to go out. And in a tone of mock solem- 
 nity, as if introducing the two, she said, ' My dear — 
 the Count Paul Astier.' 
 
 1 At your service, Master,' said Paul, as he bowed. 
 
 Astier-Rehu knitted his thick brow^ as he looked 
 at them. • Count Paul Astier ? ' said he. 
 
 The young fellow, as charming as ever, in spite
 
 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 28 1 
 
 of the tanning of six months spent in the open air, 
 said he had just indulged in the extravagance of a 
 Roman title, not so much for his own sake as in 
 honour of the lady who was about to take his 
 name. 
 
 ' So you are going to be married,' said his father, 
 whose suspicions increased. ' And who is the lady ? ' 
 
 'The Duchess Padovani.' 
 
 ' You must have lost your senses ! Why she is 
 five-and-twenty years older than you, and besides — 
 and besides — ' He hesitated, trying to find a re- 
 spectful phrase, but at last blurted right out, ' You 
 can't marry a woman who to every one's knowledge 
 has belonged to another for years.' 
 
 ' A fact, however, which has never prevented our 
 dining with her regularly, and accepting from her 
 all kinds of favours,' hissed Madame Astier, rearing 
 her little head as to strike. Without bestowing on 
 her a word or a look, as holding her no judge in 
 a ouestion of honour, the man went up to his son, 
 ami said in earnest tones, the muscles of his big 
 cheeks twitching with emotion, ' Don't do it, Paul. 
 For the sake of the name you bear, don't do it, 
 my boy, I beg you.' He grasped his son's shoulder 
 and shook him, voice and hand quivering together. 
 But the young fellow moved away, not liking such 
 demonstrations, and objected generally that ' he
 
 282 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 didn't see it ; it was not his view.' The father felt 
 the impassable distance between himself and his son, 
 saw the impenetrable face and the look askance, 
 and instinctively lifted up his voice in appeal to 
 his rights as head of the family. A smile which 
 he caught passing between Paul and his mother, 
 a fresh proof of their joint share in this discredit- 
 able business, completed his exasperation. He 
 shouted and raved, threatening to make a public 
 protest, to write to the papers, to brand them both, 
 mother and son, ' in his history.' This last was his 
 most appalling threat. When he had said of some 
 historical character, ' I have branded him in my 
 history,' he thought no punishment could be more 
 severe. Madame Astier, almost as familiar with the 
 threat of branding as with the dragging of his trunk 
 about the passage, contented herself with saying as 
 she buttoned her gloves : ' You know every word can 
 be heard in the next room.' In spite of the curtains 
 over the door, the murmur of conversation was audible 
 from the drawing-room. 
 
 Then, repressing and swallowing his wrath, * Listen 
 to me, Paul,' said Leonard Astier, shaking his fore- 
 finger in the young man's face, ' if ever this thing 
 you are talking of comes to pass, do not expect to 
 look upon me again. I will not be present on your 
 wedding day ; I will not have you near me, not even
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 2§3 
 
 at my death-bed. You are no longer a son of mine ; 
 and you go with my curse upon you.' Moving away 
 instinctively from the finger which almost touched 
 him, Paul replied with great calmness, ' Oh, you know, 
 my dear father, that sort of thing is never done now- 
 a-days ! Even on the stage they have given up 
 blessing and cursing.' 
 
 ''But not punishing, you scoundrel ! ' growled the 
 old man, lifting his hand. There was an angry 
 cry of ' Leonard ! ' from the mother, as with the 
 prompt parry of a boxer Paul turned the blow aside, 
 quietly as if he had been in Keyser's gymnasium, 
 and without letting go the wrist he had twisted 
 under, said beneath his breath, ' No, no ; I won't have 
 that.' 
 
 The tough old hillsman struggled violently, but, 
 vigorous as he still was, he had found his master. At 
 this terrible moment, while father and son stood face 
 to face, breathing hate at one another, and exchanging 
 murderous glances, the door of the drawing-room 
 opened a little and showed the good-natured doll-like 
 smile of a fat lady bedecked with feathers and flowers. 
 ' Excuse me, dear master, I want just to say a word 
 — why, Adelaide is here, and M. Paul too. Charming! 
 delightful ! Quite a family group ! ' Madame Ancelin 
 was right. A family group it was, a picture of 
 the modern family, spoilt by the crack which runs
 
 284 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 
 
 through European society from top to bottom, en- 
 dangering its essential principles of authority and 
 subordination, and nowhere more remarkable than 
 here, under the stately dome of the Institute, 
 where the traditional domestic virtues are judged and 
 rewarded.
 
 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 285 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 It was stifling in the Eighth Chamber, where the 
 Fage case was just coming on after interminable 
 preliminaries and great efforts on the part of influ- 
 ential persons to stop the proceedings. Never had 
 this court-room, whose walls of a mouldy blue and 
 diamond pattern in faded gilding reeked with the 
 effluvium of rags and misery, never had this court 
 seen squeezed on its dirty seats and packed in its 
 passages such a press and such a crowd of fashion- 
 able and distinguished persons, so many flower- 
 trimmed bonnets and spring costumes by the masters 
 of millinery art, to throw into relief the dead black 
 of the gowns and caps. People were still coming in 
 through the entrance lobby, where the double doors 
 were perpetually swinging as the tide flowed on, a 
 wavy sea of thronging faces upturned beneath the 
 whitish light of the landing. Everyone was there, 
 all the well-known, well-worn, depressingly familiar 
 personages that figure at every Parisian festivity, 
 fashionable funeral, or famous 'first night.' There
 
 286 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 
 
 was Marguerite Oger well to the fore, and the little 
 Countess Foder, and beautiful Mrs. Henry of the 
 American Embassy. There were the ladies belong- 
 ing to the Academic confraternity, Madame Ancelin 
 in mauve on the arm of Raverand, the leader of the 
 bar ; Madame Eviza,a bush of little roses surrounded 
 by a busy humming swarm of would-be barristers. 
 Behind the President's bench was Danjou, standing 
 with folded arms, and showing above the audience 
 and the judges the hard angles of his regular stage- 
 weathered countenance, everywhere to be seen during 
 the last forty years as the type of social common- 
 place in all its manifold manifestations. With the 
 exception of Astier-Rehu and Baron Huchenard, 
 who were summoned as witnesses, he was the only 
 Academician bold enough to face the irreverent 
 remarks that might be expected in the speech of 
 Fage's counsel, Margery, the dreaded wit, who con- 
 vulses the whole assembly and the bench with the 
 mere sound of his nasal ' Well.' Some fun was to be 
 expected ; the whole atmosphere of the place 
 announced it, the erratic tilt of the barristers' caps, 
 the gleam in the eyes and curl in the corners of the 
 mouths of people giving one another little anticipa- 
 tory smiles. There were endless anecdotes current 
 about the achievements in gallantry of the little 
 humpback who had just been brought to the
 
 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 287 
 
 prisoner's box and, lifting his long well-greased 
 head, cast into the court over the bar the con- 
 quering glance of a manifest ladies' man. Stories 
 were told of compromising letters, of an account 
 drawn up by the prisoner mentioning right out the 
 names of two or three well-known ladies of fashion, 
 the regular names dragged again and again into 
 every unsavoury case. There was a copy of the 
 production going the rounds of the seats reserved for 
 the press, a simple conceited autobiography con- 
 taining none of the revelations imputed to it by 
 public rumour. Fage had beguiled the tedium of con- 
 finement by writing for the court the story of his life. 
 He was born, he said, near Vassy (Haute Marne), as 
 straight as anybody — so they all say — but a fall 
 from a horse at fifteen had bent and inflected his 
 spine. His taste for gallantry had developed some- 
 what late in life when he was working at a book- 
 seller's in the Passage des Panoramas. As his 
 deformity interfered with his success, he tried to find 
 some way of getting plenty of money. The story of 
 his love affairs alternating with that of his forgeries 
 and the means employed, with descriptions of ink 
 and of parchment, resulted in such headings to his 
 chapters as ' My first victim — For a red ribbon — 
 The gingerbread fair — I make the acquaintance 
 of Astier-Rihu — The mysterious ink — I defy the
 
 288 ONE OF THE « FORTY ' 
 
 chemists of the Institute.' This brief epitome la 
 enough to show the combination, the humpback's 
 self-satisfaction phis the arrogance of the self-taught 
 artisan. The general result of reading the pro- 
 duction was utter amazement that the Permanent 
 Secretary of the Academie Franchise and the official 
 representatives of science and literature could have 
 been taken in for two or three years by an igno- 
 rant dwarf with a brain crammed full of the refuse 
 of libraries and the ill-digested parings of books. 
 This constituted the extraordinary joke of the whole 
 business, and was the explanation of the crowded 
 court. People came to see the Academie pilloried 
 in the person of Astier-Rehu, who sat among the 
 witnesses, the mark of every eye. There he sat 
 without moving, absorbed in his thoughts, not turning 
 his head, and hardly answering the fulsome com- 
 pliments of Freydet who was standing behind, with 
 black gloves and a deep crape hat-band, having quite 
 recently lost his sister. He had been summoned for 
 the defence, and the Academic candidate was afraid 
 that the fact might damage him in the eyes of his old 
 master. He was apologising and explaining how he 
 had come across the wretched Fage in Vedrine's 
 studio, and that was the reason of this unexpected 
 call. But his whispers were lost in the noise of 
 the court and the monotonous hum from the bench, as
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY 5 289 
 
 cases were called on and disposed of, the invariable 
 4 This day week, this day week ' descending like the 
 stroke of the guillotine and cutting short the 
 barrister's protest, and the entreaties of poor red- 
 faced fellows mopping their brows before the seat of 
 justice. ' But, Monsieur le President . , .' ' This day 
 week.' Sometimes from the back of the court would 
 come a cry and a despairing movement of a pair of 
 arms, ' I am here, M. le President, but I can't get 
 through, there's such a crowd . . .' ' This day week.' 
 When a man has beheld such clearances as these, 
 and seen the symbolic scales operate with such 
 dexterity, he gets a vivid impression of French 
 justice ; it is not unlike the sensation of hearing the 
 funeral service raced through in a hurry by a strange 
 priest over a pauper's grave. 
 
 The voice of the President called for the Fage 
 case. Complete silence followed in the court, and 
 even on the staircase landing where people had 
 climbed on to benches to see. Then after a short 
 consultation on the bench the witnesses filed out 
 through a dense crowd of gowns on their way to the 
 little room reserved for them, a dreary empty place, 
 badly lighted by glass windows that had once been 
 red, and looking out on a narrow alley. Astier-Rehu, 
 who was to be called first, did not go in, but walked 
 up, and down in the gloomy passage between the 
 
 U
 
 290 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 witness-room and the court. Freydet wished to 
 stay with him, but he said in a colourless voice, ' No, 
 no, let me alone, I want to be alone.' So the candi- 
 date joined the other witnesses who were standing in 
 little knots — Baron Huchenard, Bos the palaeographer, 
 Delpech the chemist, of the Academie des Sciences, 
 some experts in handwriting, and two or three pretty 
 girls, the originals of some of the photographs that 
 adorned the walls of Fage's room, delighted at 
 the notoriety that the proceedings would bring them, 
 laughing loudly and displaying startling little spring 
 hats strangely different from the linen cap and 
 woollen mittens of the caretaker at the Cour des 
 Comptes. Vedrine also had been summoned, and 
 Freydet came and sat by him on the wide ledge of 
 the open window. The two friends, whirled apart 
 in the opposing currents that divide men's lives in 
 Paris, had not met since the summer before until the 
 recent funeral of poor Germaine de Freydet. Vedrine 
 pressed his friend's hand and asked how he was, how 
 he felt after so terrible a blow. Freydet shrugged 
 his shoulders, ' It's hard, very hard, but after all I'm 
 used to it.' Then, as Vedrine stared in wonder at 
 his selfish stoicism, he added, 'Just think, that's twice 
 in one year that I have been fooled.' The blow, the 
 only blow, that he remembered, was his failure to 
 get Ripault-Babin's seat, which he had lately missed,
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY* 29 1 
 
 as he had missed Loisillon's before. Presently he 
 understood, sighed deeply, and said, ' Ah, yes, poor 
 Germaine ! ' She had taken so much trouble all the 
 winter about his unlucky candidature. Two dinners 
 a week ! Up to twelve or one o'clock she would 
 be wheeling her chair all over the drawing-room. 
 She had sacrificed her remaining strength to it, and 
 was even more excited and keen than her brother. 
 And at the last, the very last, when she was past 
 speaking, her poor twisted fingers went on counting 
 upon the hem of the sheet. ' Yes, V^drine, she died, 
 ticking and calculating my chances of Ripault- 
 Babin's seat. Oh, if only for her sake, I will get 
 into their Academie, in defiance of them all, and in 
 honour of her dear memory ! ' He stopped short, 
 then in an altered and lower voice went on : ' Really 
 I don't know why I talk like that. The truth is that, 
 since they put the idea into my head, I can think of 
 nothing else. My sister is dead and I have hardly 
 given her a tear. I had to pay my calls and 
 " beg for the Acaddmie," as that fellow says. The 
 thing takes the very life out of me. It's perfectly 
 maddening.' 
 
 In the savage plainness of these words and the 
 excited ring of the angry voice, the sculptor could 
 scarcely recognise his gentle courteous friend, to 
 whom mere living used to be a joy. The absent 
 
 62
 
 292 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 expression in his eye, the anxious wrinkle on his 
 brow, and the heat of the hand which grasped 
 Vedrine's, all betrayed his subjection to one absorb- 
 ing passion, one fixed idea. But the meeting with 
 Vedrine seemed to have relieved his nerves, and he 
 asked affectionately, ' Well, what are you doing, and 
 how are you getting on ? How is your wife ? And 
 the children ? ' His friend answered with his quiet 
 smile. All were doing well, thank God. The little 
 girl was just going to be weaned. The boy continued 
 to fulfil his function of looking lovely, and was 
 waiting impatiently for old Rehu's centenary. As 
 for himself, he was hard at work. He had two 
 pictures in the Salon this year, not badly hung, and 
 not badly sold. On the other hand a creditor, not 
 less unwise than hard, had taken possession of the 
 Knight, and he had passed from stage to stage, first 
 lying much in the way in a fine suite of rooms on the 
 ground floor in the Rue St. P^tersbourg, then packed 
 off to a stable at Batignolles, and now shivering 
 under a cowkeeper's shed at Levallois, where from 
 time to time the sculptor and his family went to pay 
 him a visit. 
 
 ' So much for glory ! ' added Vedrine with a laugh, 
 as the voice of the usher called for the witness 
 Astier-Rehu. The head of the Permanent Secretary 
 showed for a moment, outlined against the dusty
 
 ONE OF THE « FORTY ' 293 
 
 light of the court-room, upright and steady ; but 
 his back he had forgotten to control, and the shiver 
 of his broad shoulders betrayed intense feeling. 
 4 Poor man,' muttered the sculptor, * he's got heavy 
 trials to go through. This autograph business, and 
 his son's marriage.' 
 
 1 Is Paul Astier married ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, three days ago, to the Duchess Padovani. 
 It was a sort of morganatic marriage, with no 
 guests but the young man's mamma and the four 
 witnesses. I was one of them, as you may suppose, 
 for a freak of fate seems to associate me with all 
 the acts and deeds of the Astier family.' 
 
 And Vedrine described the sorrowful surprise 
 with which in the Mayor's room he had seen the 
 Duchess Padovani appear, deathly pale, as haughty 
 as ever, but withered and heart-broken, with a 
 mass of grey hair, the poor beautiful hair that she 
 no longer took the trouble to dye. By her side 
 was Paul Astier, the Count, smiling, cold, and 
 charming as before. They all looked at one another, 
 and nobody had a word to say except the official 
 who, after a good stare at the two old ladies, felt 
 it incumbent upon him to remark with a gracious 
 bow: 
 
 ' We are only waiting for the bride.' 
 
 ' The bride is here,' replied the Duchess, stepping
 
 294 ° NE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 forward with head erect and a bitter smile which 
 spoilt and twisted her beautiful mouth. 
 
 From the Mayor's office, where the deputy on duty 
 had the good taste to spare them an oration, they 
 adjourned to the Catholic Institute in the Rue de 
 Vaugirard, an aristocratic church, all over gilding and 
 flowers and a blaze of candles, but not a soul there, 
 nobody but the wedding party on a single row of 
 chairs, to hear the Papal Nuncio, Monsignor Adriani, 
 mumble an interminable homily out of an illuminated 
 book. A fine thing it was, to hear the worldly 
 prelate with large nose, thin lips, and hollow 
 shoulders under his violet cape, talking of the 
 'honourable traditions of the husband and the 
 charms of the wife,' with a sombre, cynical side- 
 glance at the velvet cushions of the unhappy 
 couple. Then came the departure ; cold good-byes 
 were exchanged under the arches of the little 
 cloister, and a sigh of relief with ' Well, that's over,' 
 escaped the Duchess, said in the despairing, dis- 
 enchanted accent of a woman who has measured the 
 abyss, and leaps in with her eyes open only to keep 
 her word. 
 
 ' Ah, well,' Vedrine went on, ' I have seen gloomy 
 and lamentable sights enough in the course of my 
 life, but never anything so heart-breaking as Paul 
 Astier's wedding.'
 
 ONE OF THE * FORTY ' 295 
 
 1 He's a fine rascal, though, is our young friend,' 
 said Freydet, between his closed teeth. 
 
 'Yes, a precious product of the "struggle for 
 existence." ' 
 
 The sculptor repeated the phrase with emphasis. 
 A 'struggler for existence' was his name for the 
 novel tribe of young savages who cite the necessity 
 of ' nature's war ' as an hypocritical excuse for every 
 kind of meanness. Freydet went on : 
 
 ' Well, anyhow, he's rich now, which is what he 
 wanted. His nose has not led him astray this time.' 
 
 1 Wait and see. The Duchess is not easy to get 
 on with, and he looked devilish wicked at the 
 Mayor's. If the old lady bores him too much, we 
 may still see him some day at the Assize Court, son 
 and grandson of divinities as he is.' 
 
 ' The witness Vedrine ! ' called the usher at the 
 top of his voice. 
 
 At the same moment a huge roar of laughter ran 
 over the thronging crowd and came through the door 
 as it swung open. ' They don't seem bored in 
 there,' said the municipal officer posted in the passage. 
 The witnesses' room, which had been gradually empty- 
 ing during the chat of the two schoolfellows, now con- 
 tained only Freydet and the caretaker, who, scared at 
 having to appear in court, was twisting the strings of 
 her cap like a lunatic. The worthy candidate, on the
 
 295 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 
 
 contrary, thought he had an unparalleled opportunity 
 of burning incense at the shrine of the Academie 
 Francaise and its Permanent Secretary. Left alone, 
 when the good woman's turn came, he paced up and 
 down the room, planted himself in front of the 
 window, and let off well-rounded periods accompanied 
 by magnificent gestures of his black gloves. But 
 he was misunderstood in the house opposite ; and a 
 fat hand at the end of a bare arm pulled aside a 
 pink curtain and waved to him. Freydet, flushing 
 crimson with shame, moved quickly away from the 
 window, and took refuge in the passage. 
 
 ' The Public Prosecutor is speaking now,' said the 
 doorkeeper in a whisper, as a voice in a tone of 
 assumed indignation rang through the heated air of 
 the court — ' You played,' it said, ' on the innocent 
 passion of an old man.' 
 
 ' But how about me ? ' said Freydet, thinking 
 aloud. 
 
 ' I expect you have been forgotten.' 
 
 Freydet was at first puzzled, but presently dis- 
 gusted at the strange fate which prevented his coming 
 forward in public as the champion of the Academie, 
 and so getting himself talked about and seeing 
 his name for once in the papers. Just then a 
 shout of laughter greeted the enumeration of the 
 forgeries in the Mesnil-Case collection ; letters
 
 ONE OF THE ' FORTY » 297 
 
 from kings, popes, empresses, Turenne, Buffon, 
 Montaigne, La Boetie, Cldmence Isaure, and the 
 mere mention of the absurd list showed the extra- 
 ordinary simplicity of the historian who had been 
 befooled by the little dwarf. But at the thought that 
 this disrespectful laugh was a scoff at his master and 
 protector, Freydet felt an indignation not altogether 
 free from selfishness. He felt that he was himself hit 
 by the recoil, and his candidature damaged again. 
 He broke away, mingling in the stir of the general 
 exodus amid a confusion of footmen running to and 
 fro in the beautiful waning light of a fine June day, 
 while the parasols, pink, white, mauve, or green 
 opened like so many large flowers. Little explo- 
 sions of laughter were still coming from the various 
 groups, as if they had been seeing an amusing 
 piece at the theatre. The little humpback had 
 got it hot — five years' imprisonment and costs. 
 But how comic Margery had been ! Marguerite Oger 
 was exclaiming in fits, ' Oh my dears, my dears ! ' 
 and Danjou, escorting Madame Eviza to her carriage, 
 said aloud in his cynical way, ' It's a slap in the 
 face for the Academie, well planted — but it was 
 cleverly done.' 
 
 Leonard Astier, who was walking alone, heard 
 Danjou's remark as well as others, in spite of the 
 warnings passed from mouth to mouth, ' Take care —
 
 298 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 there he is.' It signified to him the beginning of 
 his fall in estimation, consequent on the general 
 knowledge of his folly and the amusement of 
 Paris. 
 
 ' Take my arm, my dear master ! ' said Freydet, 
 who had been carried to him by the strong impulse 
 of affection. 
 
 'Ah, my dear friend, how much good you do 
 me ! ' said the old man in a dull, broken voice. 
 
 They walked on in silence for some time. The 
 trees on the quay cast a tracery of shade upon the 
 stones below ; the sounds of the street and the river 
 echoed in the joyous air. It was one of those days 
 on which human wretchedness seems to have been 
 reprieved. 
 
 ' Where are we going ? ' asked Freydet. 
 
 'Anywhere — except home,' answered the elder 
 man, who felt a child's terror at the thought of the 
 scene his wife would inflict on him at dinner. 
 
 They dined together at the Point-du-Jour after 
 walking a long time by the river. When poor Astier 
 returned home very late the friendly words of his old 
 pupil and the sweetness of the air had succeeded in 
 restoring his peace of mind. He had got over his 
 five hours in the stocks on the bench of the Eighth 
 Chamber — five hours to endure with bound hands 
 the insulting laughter of the crowd and the vitriol
 
 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 299 
 
 squirt of the counsel. ' Laugh, apes, laugh ! Pos- 
 terity will judge ! ' was the thought with which he 
 consoled himself as he crossed the large courts of the 
 Institute, wrapped in slumber, with unlighted windows 
 and great dark foursquare holes right and left where 
 the staircases came down. He felt his way upstairs 
 and reached his study noiselessly like a thief. Since 
 Paul's marriage and his quarrel with his son he was 
 in the habit of flinging himself down every night on 
 a bed made up in the study, to escape the interminable 
 midnight discussions in which the wife always comes 
 off victorious, thanks to the never-failing support of 
 her ' nerves ', and the husband ends by giving way 
 and promising everything for the sake of peace and 
 permission to sleep. 
 
 Sleep ! Never had he so much felt the need of it 
 as now, at the end of his long day of emotion and 
 fatigue, and the darkness of his study as he entered 
 seemed the beginning of rest — when in the angle of 
 the window he dimly distinguished a human figure. 
 
 ' Well, I hope you are satisfied.' It was his wife ! 
 She was on the look out for him, waiting, and her 
 angry voice stopped him short in the dark to listen. 
 1 You have won your cause ; you insisted on making 
 yourself a mockery, and you have done it — daubed 
 and drenched yourself with ridicule, till you won't 
 be able to show yourself again ! Much reason you
 
 300 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 had to cry out that your son was disgracing you, to 
 insult and to curse your son ! Poor boy, it is well he 
 has changed his name, now that yours has become so 
 identified with ignorance and gullibility that no one 
 will be able to utter it without a smile. And all 
 this, if you please, for the sake of your historical 
 work ! Why, you foolish man, who knows anything 
 about your historical work ? Who can possibly care 
 whether your documents are genuine or forged ? You 
 know that nobody reads you.' 
 
 She went on and on, pouring out a thin stream of 
 voice in her shrillest tone ; and he felt as if he were 
 back again in the pillory, listening to the official 
 abuse as he had done all day, without interrupting, 
 without even a threatening gesture, swallowing the 
 insults as he had in court, and feeling that the autho- 
 rity was above attack and the judge one not to be 
 answered. But how cruel was this invisible mouth 
 which bit him, and wounded him all over, and slowly 
 mangled in its teeth his pride as a man and a 
 writer ! 
 
 His books, indeed ! Did he suppose that they 
 had got him into the Academie? Why, it was to 
 his wife alone that he owed his green coat ! She had 
 spent her life in plotting and manoeuvring to break 
 open one door after another ; sacrificed all her youth 
 to such intrigues, and such intriguers, as made
 
 ONE OF THE * FORTY ' 30I 
 
 her sick with disgust. 'Why, my dear, I had to! 
 The Academie is attained by talent, of which you 
 have none, or a great name, or a high position. You 
 had none of these things. So I came to the rescue.' 
 And that there might be no mistake about it, that 
 he might not attribute what she said only to the exas- 
 peration of a woman wounded and humiliated in her 
 wifely pride and her blind maternal devotion, she 
 recalled the details of his election, and reminded him 
 of his famous remark about Madame Astier's veils 
 that smelt of tobacco, though he never smoked, ' a 
 remark, my dear, that has done more to make you 
 notorious than your books.' 
 
 He gave a low deep groan, the stifled cry of a 
 man who stays with both hands the life escaping from 
 a mortal rent. The sharp little voice went on un- 
 altered. ' Ah well, pack your trunk, do, once for all ! 
 Let the world hear no more of you. Fortunately 
 your son is rich and will give you your daily bread. 
 For you need not be told that now you will find no 
 publisher or magazine to take your rubbish, and 
 it will be due to Paul's supposed infamy that you 
 escape starvation.' 
 
 'This is more than I can bear,' muttered the 
 poor man as he fled away, away from the lashing 
 fury. And as he felt his way along the walls, and 
 passed through the passage, down the stairs, across
 
 302 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 
 
 the echoing court, he muttered almost in tears, ' More 
 than I can bear, more than I can bear.' 
 
 Whither is he going ? Straight before him, as if 
 in a dream. He crosses the square and is half over the 
 bridge, before the fresh air revives him. He sits 
 down on a bench, takes off his hat and pulls up his 
 coat sleeves to still the beating of his pulses ; and the 
 regular lapping of the water makes him calmer. He 
 comes to himself again, but consciousness brings only 
 memory and pain. What a woman ! what a monster ! 
 And to think that he has lived five-and-thirty years 
 with her and not known her ! A shudder of disgust 
 runs over him at the recollection of all the horrors 
 he has just heard. She has spared nothing and left 
 within him nothing alive, not even the pride which 
 still kept him erect, his faith in his work and his 
 belief in the Academic At the thought of the 
 Academie he instinctively turned round. Beyond 
 the deserted bridge, beyond the wider avenue which 
 leads to the foot of the building, the pile of the 
 Palais Mazarin, massed together in the darkness, up- 
 reared its portico and its dome, as on the cover of the 
 Didot books, so often gazed upon in his young days 
 and in the ambitious aspirations of his whole life. 
 That dome, that block of stone, had been the delusive 
 object of his hopes, and the cause of all his misery.
 
 ONE OF THE * FORTY ' 303 
 
 It was there he sought his wife, feeling neither love 
 nor delight, but for the hope of the Institute. And 
 he has had the coveted seat, and he knows the price ! 
 
 Just then there was a sound of steps and laughter 
 on the bridge ; it came nearer. Some students with 
 their mistresses were coming back to their rooms. 
 Afraid of being recognised, he rose and leant over 
 the parapet ; and while the party passed close to 
 him without seeing him, he reflected with bitterness 
 that he had never amused himself, never allowed him- 
 self such a fine night's holiday of song beneath 
 the starlight. His ambition had always been fixed 
 unbendingly on the approach to yonder dome, the 
 dome, as it were, of a temple, whose beliefs and whose 
 ritual he had respected in anticipation. 
 
 And what had yonder dome given him in return ? 
 Nothing, absolutely nothing. Even on the day of his 
 admission, when the speeches were over and the 
 double-edged compliments at an end, he had felt the 
 sensation of emptiness and deluded hope. He had 
 said to himself as he drove home to change his 
 green coat, ' Have I really got in ? Why, it can't be 
 like this.' Since then, by dint of constant lying to 
 himself and echoing, with his colleagues, that it was 
 delightful, delicious, he had ended by believing so. But 
 now the veil had fallen away, and he saw the truth ; 
 and he would have liked to proclaim with a thousand
 
 304 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 
 
 tongues to the youth of France, ' The Academie is 
 a snare and a delusion. Go your way and do your 
 work. Sacrifice nothing to the Academie, for it has 
 nothing to offer you, neither gift, nor glory, nor the 
 best thing of all, self-contentment. It is neither a 
 retreat nor a refuge ; it is a hollow idol, a religion 
 that offers no consolations. The great troubles of 
 life come upon you there as elsewhere ; under that 
 dome men have killed themselves, men have gone 
 mad there ! Those who in their agony have turned 
 to the Academie, and weary of loving, or weary of 
 cursing, have stretched forth their arms to her, have 
 clasped but a shadow.' 
 
 The old schoolmaster was speaking aloud, bare- 
 headed, grasping the parapet with both hands as in 
 old days he used to hold the edge of his desk at 
 lessons. The river rolled on below, tinged with 
 hues of night, between its rows of winking lamps. 
 An uncanny thing is the speechless life of light, 
 moving, and looking, and never saying what it 
 means. On the quay the song of a drunken man 
 died quavering away in the distance, ' When Cu- 
 pid ... in the morn . . . awakes.' The accent 
 showed that the merry singer was an Auvergnat 
 making his way back to his coal-barge. It re- 
 minded him of Teyssedre, the polisher, and his 
 glass of good wine. He saw him wiping his mouth
 
 ONE 01' THE 'FORTY' 305 
 
 on his shirt-sleeve. ' It's the only real good in 
 life.' Even a humble natural joy like that he had 
 never known ; he must needs envy even Teyssedre. 
 Absolutely alone, with no refuge, no breast on which 
 to weep, he realised that ' that woman ' was right, 
 and ' the trunk had better be packed for good and all, 
 Leonard.' 
 
 In the morning some policemen found on a bench 
 on the Pont des Arts a wide-brimmed hat, one of 
 those hats which preserve something of the expression 
 of their owner. Inside was a large gold watch and 
 a visiting card — ' Leonard Astier-Rehu, Permanent 
 Secretary of the Academie Francaise.' Right across 
 the line of print had been written in pencil the 
 words, ' I die here of my own will.* Of his own 
 will indeed it was ! Even better than the little 
 phrase in the large, firm handwriting did the expres- 
 sion of his features — the set teeth, the projection of 
 the lower jaw — declare his fixed determination to die, 
 when after a morning's search the dredgers found 
 the body caught in the wide meshes of an iron net 
 surrounding some baths for women, quite close to 
 the bridge. It was taken first to the emergency- 
 station, where Picheral came to identify it, a strange 
 sight himself, as he fluttered along the wide bank, 
 with bare bald head and in a frock coat. It was not 
 the first time that a Permanent Secretary had been 
 
 X
 
 306 ONE OF THE ' FORTY ' 
 
 taken out of the Seine ; the same thing had occurred 
 in the time of Picheral's father, under very similar 
 circumstances. And Picheral the son did not seem 
 much affected, only annoyed that he could not wait 
 till the evening to carry Astier-Rehu home. But it 
 was necessary to take advantage of the absence of 
 Madame Astier (who was breakfasting with her son) 
 so as to spare her too great a shock. 
 
 The clock of the Palais Mazarin was striking one, 
 when with the heavy tramp of the bearers the stretcher 
 from the station was brought under the archway, 
 marking its road with ominous splashes of water. At 
 the foot of Staircase B there was a halt to take breath. 
 Over the dazzling court was a great sharp-lined 
 square of blue sky. The covering of the stretcher had 
 been raised, and the features of Leonard Astier-Rehu 
 were visible for the last time to his colleagues on the 
 Dictionary Committee, who had just broken up their 
 meeting in sign of mourning. They stood round, 
 with their hats off, not a little shocked. Other people 
 also stopped to see what it was, workmen, clerks, and 
 apprentices, for the Institute serves as a passage from 
 the Rue Mazarin to the quay. Among them was 
 kind-hearted Freydet, who, as he wiped his eyes, 
 thought in his heart, and was ashamed to think it, 
 that here was another vacancy. Old Jean Rehu was 
 just coming downstairs for his daily constitutional.
 
 ONE OF THE 'FORTY' 307 
 
 He had heard nothing, seemed surprised to see the 
 crowd beneath him as he stood on one of the lower 
 steps, and came nearer to look, in spite of the scared 
 gestures of those who tried to keep him back. Did 
 he understand ? Did he recognise the corpse? 
 His face remained calm, so did his eyes, as expres- 
 sionless as those of the bust of Minerva under her 
 helmet of bronze. And after a long look, as they 
 turned the striped canvas down over the poor dead 
 face, he went on, upright and proud, with his tall 
 shadow stalking beside him, a ' deity ' deathless in- 
 deed, while a half-mad senile shake of the head 
 seemed to say: ' That's another of the things I have 
 seen.'
 
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