THE FRENCH CLASSICAL ROMANCES
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 The 
 French Classical Romances 
 
 Complete in Twenty Crown Octavo Volumes 
 Editor-in-Chief 
 
 EDMUND GOSSE, LL.D. 
 
 With Critical Introductions and Interpretative Essays by 
 
 HENRY JAMES PROF. RICHARD BURTON HENRY HARLAND 
 
 ANDREW LANG PROF. F. C. DE SUMICHRAST 
 
 THE EARL OF CREWE HIS EXCELLENCY M. CAMBON 
 
 PROP. WM. P. TRENT ARTHUR SYMONS MAURICE HEWLETT 
 
 R. JAMES FITZMAURICE-KELLY RICHARD MANSFIELD 
 
 BOOTH TARKINGTON DR. RICHARD GARNETT 
 
 PROF. WILLIAM M. SLOANE JOHN OLIVER HOBBES
 
 JULES SANDEAU 
 
 MLLE. DE LA 
 SEIGLIERE 
 
 TRANSLATED F>-OM THE FRENCH 
 
 WITH A CRITICAL INTRODUCTION 
 BY RICHARD MANSFIELD 
 
 A FRONTISPIECE AND NUMEROUS 
 
 OTHER PORTRAITS WITH 
 
 DESCRIPTIVE NOTES BY 
 
 OCTAVE UZANNE 
 
 P. F. COLLIER & SON 
 NEW YORK.
 
 COPYRIGHT, I90X 
 BT D. APPLKTON * COMPANY
 
 library 
 
 JULES SANDEAU 
 
 THE French saying that forty lines may suffice to 
 bestow literary immortality expresses the essence of 
 the French attitude towards art. What is more, its 
 truth has proved to be of sufficiently wide application 
 to make it accepted beyond the confines of the coun- 
 try where it was born. The man or woman of one 
 poem, one book, one play, is not rare in the annals 
 of the literatures of the world. A single epigram, 
 even, has sufficed ere now to preserve a name from 
 generation to generation. 
 
 It is on the strength of one single, simple story 
 that Leonard Sylvain Jules Sandeau, known as Jules 
 Sandeau, takes his place among the masters of nine- 
 teenth-century French fiction in this series. He 
 has survived among the more generously endowed 
 writers, the volume of whose excellence has gone to 
 the creation of the greatness of that branch of 
 French literature in the century that also saw its 
 rise, because he succeeded, just once in his career, in 
 writing a book that stands unrivalled and alone in its 
 
 i Vol. 7 y 
 
 672781
 
 Jules Sandeau 
 
 own particular field and period. It is not in the 
 grand manner; it is neither majestic tragedy nor im- 
 mortal humour, and yet, within its unpretentious 
 limits, it has the elements of continued life. 
 
 To be sure, there was some doubt considerable 
 doubt, in fact among the pundits as to the perma- 
 nence of Sandeau's work, at the time of his death, 
 in 1883. Then the students of French letters hesi- 
 tatingly agreed to recognise the chances of possible 
 survival of his Maison de Penarvan-, but the great 
 reading public, which, after all, is the final judge in 
 all such matters, and which, after all, is rarely wrong 
 in its verdicts, decided otherwise. It has kept alive 
 to this day the fame of Mademoiselle de la Seigliere, 
 never hesitating in its choice, never doubting its 
 wisdom, because never failing to feel the charm of 
 the book; and behold, to-day the critics and the his- 
 torians of literature agree with it. And that, too, is 
 often the way in the world of art. 
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere is the best picture of 
 the heterogeneous society of the French Restoration 
 extant in the country's fiction. It paints the Mar- 
 quis de Carabas without exaggeration, without en- 
 mity, without desire to caricature; it exhibits to us the 
 charms and foibles, the honour and baseness of a no- 
 bility which, like its returned master, had forgotten 
 nothing and learned nothing in exile. That nobility 
 brought back with it the ideas of caste and govern- 
 
 vi
 
 Jules Sandeau 
 
 ment that had forced the people of France into revo- 
 lution and excesses; the twenty-six years of the re- 
 public and the empire had been for it but a horrible 
 nightmare, shaken off on the sunshiny morning of the 
 entrance into Paris of Louis the Desired. It could 
 not see that the interregnum had produced changes 
 which nothing could undo, that the middle class was 
 in the saddle. At first resolved to ignore this new or- 
 der of things, it did not attempt to fathom its depth, 
 to measure its strength, to appreciate its dangerous 
 possibilities. It took up its life where it had been 
 interrupted by the storm, as if nothing had hap- 
 pened, nothing had been done. It found a strange 
 body of laws, the Code Napoleon, which hampered 
 it and outraged its notions of the fitness of things; 
 all dreams of a revival of the corvee were rudely 
 shattered. But it succeeded in renewing at least 
 the outwardness of its ante-revolutionary existence, 
 the old courtly life, its graces, its ruffles, its luxu- 
 ries, its superciliousness. There were two ways of 
 interpreting Louis XVIII's saying, " Nothing has 
 changed; there is only one Frenchman more in 
 France," and the nobility adopted the wrong one. 
 Of course, there was ever the dreaded spectre of an- 
 other revolution, but, on the other hand, many were 
 found among the very people who had been benefited 
 by the upheaval that were ready to worship rank and 
 title, to be captivated by the suave manners that 
 
 vii
 
 Jules Sandeau 
 
 could hide a fathomless contempt when' interest dic- 
 tated their use; and in the countryside there was a 
 ready revival of the age-old, inbred respect for in- 
 herited greatness. 
 
 I cannot help wondering if in his innermost heart 
 Sandeau did not dearly love a lord. He certainly 
 was captivated by the distinguished charm, the ex- 
 quisite manners, the sumptuous taste, the royal art 
 and science of living, the very insolent pride of the 
 erstwhile masters of the soil. His books inevitably 
 suggest this to whoever chooses to look below the 
 surface. He revels in the luxury of the returned 
 Marquis de la Seigliere, the eighteenth-century dain- 
 tiness and beauty and artificiality of the Baronne de 
 Vaubert; but is there not, after all, an attraction for 
 most of us in these polished attributes of aristocracy? 
 They unquestionably give beauty to life, the beauty 
 to which we all aspire, which, when we come to con- 
 sider it, has always been the heritage of the masses 
 at a later date. The aristocracies of the world have 
 ever been its pioneers in the art of living the ma- 
 terial life beautiful. It is not until some righteously 
 indignant son of the soil like Carlyle thunders forth, 
 or some master of humour like Mark Twain produces 
 a Yankee at King Arthur's Court, that we realize the 
 enormous cost of all these adornments of life to the 
 mass of humanity through the ages of the old dis- 
 pensation. 
 
 viii
 
 Jules Sandeau 
 
 And here observe the saving clause in Sandeau's 
 pleasure in the polished outwardness of the noble life. 
 He had in good measure the sense of humour, and 
 it enabled him to retain his keenness of sight. His 
 aristocrats are mentally and morally men and women 
 like all the rest of the world, possessing only great 
 tact, infinite resources of dissimulation and sophistry 
 to hide the sordidness of their aims and to make it 
 palatable to their own code of honour. There is bit- 
 ing satire in the account of the scheming of the bar- 
 oness, in the progress of the marquis towards his 
 changing goal; and the introduction of the old law- 
 yer furnishes an opportunity for irony that is utilized 
 with a skill rarely excelled. 
 
 The peasant who makes restitution to his re- 
 turned master of the confiscated estates acquired by 
 him is neither exalted nor scorned. He remains a 
 lout, an unpleasant person to have in a salon; his 
 generosity, like his good fortune, is the result of 
 circumstances. But he is at least honest, which' 
 the marquis and the baroness are not. Noblesse 
 oblige is binding on them only in their dealings 
 with their own caste. Meanwhile they are people 
 of delightful manners, of exquisite taste; and M. 
 Sandeau, who all the time intends to frustrate 
 their plans, is grateful to them for that, as are his 
 readers. The people who are historically in the 
 wrong are often romantically in the right. Wit- 
 
 ix
 
 Jules Sandeau 
 
 ness the Cavalier - and - Roundhead romances of 
 England. 
 
 Writing at a period somewhat later than that in 
 which he laid the action of his story, Sandeau was 
 able to give it a touch of social prophecy. Inter- 
 preting backward, he reached conclusions which 
 since have come markedly true, in France and Eng- 
 land especially. The wily old lawyer, keeping fiis 
 ancient enemy, the marquis, squirming on the burn- 
 ing needle of his sharp tongue, advised him to seek 
 security from harm in an alliance with the people; 
 and this drawing together of bourgeoisie and nobility 
 has been taking place ever since, especially for finan- 
 cial reasons. 
 
 These are, it appears to me, the secondary causes 
 of the survival of Mademoiselle de la Seigliere; it is a 
 socio-historical document. The primary cause, the 
 more important one, lies on the surface; it is the 
 same as that discernible in all enduring successes in 
 fiction. This is a capital story, skilfully planned, and 
 told with engrossing spontaneity, the result of the 
 polished art it hides. Its plot is taken from the more 
 salient minor incidents of the restoration of the 
 Bourbons, entwined with the recurrent consequences 
 of the great upheaval, from the taking of the Bas- 
 tille to the retreat from Moscow; its characters and 
 incidents are results of all that momentous quarter 
 century. But underlying it all, and dominating it.
 
 Jules Sandeau 
 
 is the eternal, world-wide human motive of the way 
 of love with a man and a maid, which never loses its 
 charm. Mademoiselle de la Seigliere is, above all else, 
 a romance of delightful simplicity and purity of 
 thought. 
 
 Sandeau had suffered early in life at the hands of 
 the wonderful woman of genius who is represented 
 with him in this series a little posthumous irony of 
 fate. His later existence, subdued, uneventful, emo- 
 tionless, indicates that the fragrant blossom of youth, 
 its crown and glory, was killed in his breast, never to 
 flower again, by that short, stormy, wretched con- 
 nection with Mme. Dudevant. But, though the 
 poetry of love was killed in his heart by that early 
 experience, Sandeau kept his ideals alive and sacred 
 in his bosom. What he himself had missed he would 
 give to others, in all its beauty, if only in fiction. 
 Disillusionment had not embittered him; he treas- 
 ured the delicate flower of romance to the end. 
 Hence the freshness of the charm of the nascent love 
 between Helene de la Seigliere and the returned sol- 
 dier-son of the peasant in this story; hence its firm 
 grasp upon the sympathies of the reader; hence also, 
 perhaps, by inevitable reaction, its tragic ending. 
 
 The workmanship of an author is judged by his 
 characters, his plots, and his style, the relative im- 
 portance of these three components varying accord- 
 ing to the inclination of each individual reader. 
 
 xi
 
 Jules Sandeau 
 
 Character in fiction is the result of imagination based 
 upon observation, and, in its best presentation, upon 
 unerring intuition; plot is the outcome of observa- 
 tion plus inventiveness; style, of taste plus applica- 
 tion. And all three are conditioned, of course, by 
 talent 
 
 Sandeau repeats himself time and again in his 
 plots and characters. He had, aw fond, but one story 
 to tell, but one set of characters to employ, and he 
 scrupled not to borrow upon occasion a whole pas- 
 sage from one of his earlier works for use in its suc- 
 cessors. His inventiveness was apparently of thin 
 texture; his critics aver that he was simply incurably 
 indolent. It is certain that, whether from an uncon- 
 querable unwillingness to stir his imagination into 
 activity or from a lack of resource, he became a spe- 
 cialist, so to speak, in one single phase of the chang- 
 ing life of the French Restoration. 
 
 Most artists of the second rank have this tend- 
 ency to use time and again the material that has 
 erved them well; some cling to the situations and 
 characters of a first success; others develop them 
 from stage to stage until perfection is reached in an 
 ultimate production. Sandeau did neither. Made- 
 moiselle de la Seigliere was neither his first story nor 
 his last. With him the fulness of fruition came after 
 a few preliminary attempts. He gave in this book 
 all that he had to give of his observation, his im- 
 
 zti
 
 Jules Sandeau 
 
 agination, and his inventiveness at their best, and he 
 wrought surpassingly well. 
 
 He was not incapable, on the other hand, of tak- 
 ing infinite pains with his style. Indeed, on occasion 
 he had too much style; he worked over it too assidu- 
 ously, too anxiously, maugre his reputed indolence. 
 He polished and refined until the result was artifi- 
 ciality rather than art. This sin of commission is, 
 however, hardly discernible in Mademoiselle de la 
 Seigliere. To be sure, we find in it such flights as 
 " les hotes de nos bois," when game is meant; the 
 fact that it is midnight is classically announced thus: 
 " La journee touchait a sa fin; les deux aiguilles de 
 la pendule etaient pres de se joindre sur 1'email de la 
 douzieme heure," but these are imperceptible blem- 
 ishes in a tale that is distinguished throughout by 
 good taste and direct simplicity of narrative. The 
 occurrence of a few survivals of the stilted French 
 literary classicism in the story is worth noting only 
 because Sandeau began life as a follower of Victor 
 Hugo, an enthusiastic romanticist, a rebel of the 
 rebels against the shackles of tradition. 
 
 He certainly was a master of landscape. The 
 smiling, lowly beauty of Le Limousin, La Marche, 
 and Berry, the more rugged grandeur of Bretagne, 
 La Vendee, and Le Bocage, found in him a painter 
 in words of admirable simplicity. He loved nature 
 and understood her. Therefore he eschews grandilo- 
 
 xiii
 
 Jules Sandeau 
 
 quent phrases and flamboyant adjectives; her har- 
 monies are reflected in his work. He was, if I may 
 be allowed to coin the expression, an impressionist 
 with an etcher's needle. The opening pages of this 
 book will illustrate my meaning. 
 
 The popularity of Mademoiselle de la Seigliere as 
 a novel led Sandeau to cast it in dramatic form. The 
 result justified him. Produced on the Paris stage in 
 1851, the play achieved instant success. It was a 
 good play in its day, old-fashioned now, as all but 
 the greatest work must become in the course of 
 time; but it had a more enduring result in Sandeau's 
 collaboration with Augier on Le Gendre de Monsieur 
 Poirier, produced in 1854, which is and will remain 
 one of the great comedies of the French stage in the 
 nineteenth century. It but sounds another change 
 upon the subject which Sandeau had explored in all 
 its bearings and understood to perfection. Hence 
 its merits, which brought it, besides fame and popu- 
 larity, the sincerest form of flattery in liberal meas- 
 ure. Many have been the Poiriers on the French 
 stage since its appearance, and in French fiction, too. 
 Strange to say, its very excellence has led many 
 students to the conclusion that Sandeau's famous 
 collaborator was chiefly responsible for its writing, a 
 conclusion that cannot be seriously maintained if 
 the evidence be well weighed. For the Marquis de 
 Presle, M. Poirier, the plot, the alliance with the rich 
 
 xiv
 
 Jules Sandeau 
 
 bourgeoisie sought by the nobility for its own preser- 
 vation, the flattered willingness of the middle class 
 thus to ally itself with the great all this is San- 
 deau's own, the ripe fruit of his observation, the re- 
 sult of his lifelong study of his own little corner of 
 the world around him. Whoever reads his books 
 carefully, and then the play, can reach no other con- 
 clusion. The striking harmony, moreover, of the 
 dialogue with plot and characters suggests that at 
 least a goodly portion of that, too, must have been 
 his work. Augier was a gifted dramatist, sure of his 
 place in the literature of the stage. It can do no 
 injustice to his reputation to assume, on the strength 
 of this inner evidence, that in the case of Le Gendre 
 de Monsieur Poirier his work was confined to the 
 technical arrangement, the masterly presentation of 
 the brilliant material contributed by his collaborator 
 to the common fund. 
 
 Sandeau was born at Aubusson on February 19, 
 1811, and destined for the bar by his family. He 
 began his legal studies in Paris, but soon fell under 
 the influence of the romanticist movement in letters, 
 then at its height, its general Bohemian tendency, 
 however, being probably a greater attraction to him 
 than its purely literary purposes. If he was ready to 
 follow Gautier's red waistcoat into the thick of the 
 fray over Ernani, he was even readier to take his 
 
 xv
 
 Jules Sandeau 
 
 share in the glorious, inspiring pastime of despising 
 and shocking the Philistines, to revel in noises by 
 night, and to sing under their windows songs ob- 
 noxious and insulting to the probity and peaceful 
 respectability of the worthy tradesmen of the Quar- 
 tier. His subsequent career indicates, nevertheless, 
 that the literary side of the revolt was not without its 
 influence upon him. 
 
 About this time in 1830 Sandeau met Mme. 
 Dudevant at Coudray, near La Chatre, at the house 
 of friends. A mutual attraction was the immediate 
 result, and when she left home it was to join him in 
 Paris. They collaborated on work for the news- 
 papers, and in the production of a first novel, Rose et 
 Blanche, signed " Jules Sand," which became the 
 foundation of the famous pen-name which Mme. 
 Dudevant adopted. It was all she retained of their 
 two years' unhappy union, whose dispiriting influ- 
 ence upon Sandeau endured to the last. He was her 
 debut, merely the first episode in her eventful ca- 
 reer; she was the beginning and the end of his emo- 
 tional life, its birth and grave. 
 
 There were, of course, two sides to the question. 
 There always are in affairs of this kind. There were 
 two sides to the Musset episode, and the Chopin trag- 
 edy. We all have read Elle et Lui and Lui et Elle; 
 many of us are aware of the existence of Chopin's 
 little allegory of the White Blackbird; but Sandeau's 
 
 xvi
 
 Jules Sandeau 
 
 contribution to this surprising literature of the emo- 
 tional life of George Sand is practically forgotten. 
 And yet Marianna is well worth reading for its por- 
 trait of that woman of genius; it is in the fullest sense 
 what in these later days of objective and subjective 
 mental inquiry we have come to call a " psycholog- 
 icarstudy " and a "human document"; and it con- 
 tains some rememberable pen pictures of the outward 
 woman as she appeared to him in the days of her 
 youth. 
 
 George Sand told the whole story one night, to- 
 wards the end of her days, to Balzac, who came to 
 visit her at Nohant; Balzac told it to Mme. Hanska 
 in one of his later letters; and the Vicomte Spoel- 
 bergh de Louvenjoul gave it to the world in his edi- 
 tion of these epistles, published a few years ago. 
 Sandeau was indolent, no doubt; he would not help 
 himself, and he was too downright lazy to let others 
 help him. It was misery for her, no better than that 
 which she had left behind her under the conjugal 
 roof. Yet it takes two to make a quarrel, and Au- 
 rore Dudevant was not for nothing a grand-daughter 
 of Maurice de Saxe. I certainly doubt if it was quite 
 so much a case of the eagle and the crow as it has 
 been represented to be: Sandeau's mental inferiority 
 to her can hardly have been so striking as all that. 
 The trace of the Ouartier Latin was still over his 
 mind and his habits when they met and loved; and, 
 
 xvii
 
 Jules Sandeau 
 
 for an indolent man, he certainly achieved a respect- 
 able amount of work. 
 
 Their rupture sent him to Italy, whence he re- 
 turned in 1834, to make Paris thenceforth his home. 
 He was made conservator of the Mazarin Library in 
 1853, elected to the Academic Franchise in 1858, 
 and appointed librarian at the Palace of St. Cloud in 
 1859, a sinecure which gave him the means and the 
 leisure to devote himself undisturbed to his literary 
 labours. Napoleon III often rendered such services 
 to art and letters, mostly at the prompting of Morny. 
 Sandeau died on April 24, 1883. 
 
 His place and significance in the romantic move- 
 ment of his time are, perhaps, negative rather than 
 positive. That movement began, in France as in 
 England, with mediaeval history in fiction. Hugo's 
 Notre-Dame de Paris was its notable first result; but 
 at the same time Stendhal saw the value of the pres- 
 ent, of the Restoration, as material for fictional 
 study. Sandeau followed him in this choice of sub- 
 ject, but whereas Le Rouge et le Noir is of less value 
 to us as a novel than as a study of the earlier emer- 
 gence of the " struggler for life," whom Daudet was 
 to take up at a later date, and even as a revelation 
 of Nietzsche's Uebennensch long before the German 
 philosopher preached his coming, an unavoidable re- 
 sult of the new order of things evolved out of the 
 chaos of the Revolution, Sandeau believed, and the 
 
 xviii
 
 Jules Sandeau 
 
 faith that was in him endures to this day, that in a 
 novel the story, the romance, is of paramount im- 
 portance. It is curious to observe, by the way, that 
 in the closing days of her career George Sand was 
 converted to this faith, in such books as Le Marquis 
 de Vilkmer and han de la Roche, stories told for their 
 own sake, and for the simple pleasure they gave their 
 readers. 
 
 Romance with a significant historical back- 
 ground, this was what Sandeau gave to the world, his 
 view-point being that of the social student more than 
 of the social psychologist. Though the romantic 
 movement claims him chronologically, it is perhaps 
 best, after all, to set him apart from it as a simple 
 teller of tales. The later evolutions in French fic- 
 tion moved him not; neither the realism of Flaubert's 
 Madame Bovary, nor the archaeological erudition of 
 his Salammbo, affected him; he saw the rise of natu- 
 ralism in the Goncourts and Zola without swerving 
 from his path; the third empire he left to his suc- 
 cessors, notably to Daudet. And here ends the list 
 of his contemporaries, for Bourget is of a later gen- 
 eration. 
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere is all that the world 
 has cared to preserve of his fiction, but to that it 
 clings with real affection. A brilliant picture of a 
 period in the development of modern social life in 
 France, the book owes its charm, in the last analysis, 
 
 xix
 
 Jules Sandeau 
 
 to its happy combination of what is merely local and 
 temporary with the universal romance of the youth 
 of mankind, which, repeating itself from generation 
 to generation, remains ever new and ever fresh, in 
 fiction as in life. 
 
 RICHARD MANSFIELD.
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 
 
 JULES SANDEAU, whose baptismal names were Leonard 
 Sylvain Jules, was born at Aubusson, in the Creuse, on the 
 ipth of February, 1811. He was sent to Paris to study 
 for the law, but during his holidays in the year 1830 he 
 went over to Nohant, and met George Sand (Madame 
 Dudevant), who formed an intimate friendship with him 
 and afterward accompanied him to Paris. It was she 
 who first encouraged Sandeau to occupy himself with 
 literature, and she collaborated with him in his first novel, 
 " Rose et Blanche/' 1831. This intimacy soon came to an 
 end, and in later life the two novelists met at a publisher's 
 without recognising each other. Sandeau did not imme- 
 diately pursue the path of novel-writing, but in 1834 he 
 'published " Madame de Sommerville." His steady activ- 
 ity, however, began in 1839, with the issue of " Mari- 
 anna " ; this was followed by " Le Docteur Herbeau " in 
 1841, " Fernand" in 1844, "Catherine" in 1845, " Va- 
 lor euse" in 1846, and in 1848 what is Sandeau' s best 
 romance, " Mademoiselle de la Seigliere" Sandeau never. 
 took any part in politics, but he acquiesced in the Empire. 
 He now turned his attention to the stage, collaborating* 
 romanticist as he was, with the typical enemy of Romanti- 
 cism, mile Augier (1820-1899). They wrote three 
 
 xxi
 
 Biographical Note 
 
 plays together, the first of which, " La Chasse au Roman" 
 18^1, is not remarkable; the other two, "La Pierre de 
 Touche " (1854) ana " Le Gcndre de Monsieur Poirier " 
 (1854), are admirable comedies. Augier, however, hav- 
 ing made this experiment, determined in future to return 
 to his own sphere of sarcasm and good sense. In 1853 
 Sandeau was appointed keeper of the Masarin Library 
 in Paris, from which he was transferred in 1859 to the 
 Imperial Library at St. Cloud, a post which he held until 
 1871, when he retired on a pension. The later novels of 
 Sandeau were " Madelaine" (1848}; " Un Heritage" 
 (1850); " Sacs et Parchemins " (1851); " La Maison de 
 Penarvan" (1858}; " Un Debut dans la Magistrature " 
 (1862) ; "La Roche aux Mouettes" (1871); and "Do 
 Thommeray" (1873). Sandeau died on the 24th o/j 
 April, 1883. 
 
 E. G. 
 
 xxii
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 FACBS 
 
 Jules Sandeau ......... v xx 
 
 Richard Mansfeld 
 
 Life of Jules Sandeau ...... xxi xxii 
 
 Edmund Gasst 
 
 Mile, de la Seigliere I ~3O7 
 
 The Portraits of Jules Sandeau. . . 309-317 
 
 Octavt Uzanne 
 
 xxiii
 
 MADEMOISELLE DE LA SEIGLlfeRE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 SHOULD it ever happen, in passing through Poi- 
 tiers, that one of the thousand little accidents that 
 make up human life compelled you to sojourn an 
 entire day in that city, where, as I suppose, you have 
 neither relations, nor friends, nor any interest that 
 appeals to you, you would infallibly be overtaken at 
 the end of an hour or two by the sad and profound 
 ennui that envelops the province like an atmosphere, 
 and is exhaled more particularly by the capital of 
 Poitou. 
 
 Throughout the entire kingdom I know no other 
 place, save Bourges perhaps, where this invisible 
 fluid, a thousand times more fatal than the mistral 
 or the sirocco, is so penetrating, and so subtle in- 
 filtrating one's entire being in the most sudden and 
 unexpected manner. At Bourges, moreover, to ex- 
 orcise the scourge, you can make pilgrimage to one 
 of the finest cathedrals ever erected by art and by 
 the Catholic faith. There you will find enough to 
 fill you with admiration for a week or more, without 
 
 3
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 counting the Hotel de Jacques Coeur, another mar- 
 vel, where as a further distraction you can meditate 
 at your leisure on the ingratitude of kings. 
 
 In short, along these deserted streets, where the 
 grass grows between the paving-stones in front of 
 those vast hotels, sadly retired within their silent 
 courts, that ennui will soon, and all unconsciously, 
 assume a character of melancholy that is not without 
 its charm. Bourges offers the poetry of the cloister; 
 Poitiers is a tomb. 
 
 Should, therefore, some malevolent genius, some 
 untoward fate, despite my heartfelt vows to Heaven 
 on your behalf, arrest your steps within these sombre 
 walls, it will be well for you to quit them hastily. 
 The open country is within a step; the environs, 
 though not picturesque, have a fresh and smiling 
 aspect. Go to the banks of the Clain. The Clain is 
 a tiny river to which the Vienne yields the honour 
 of watering the capital of its department. The Clain 
 is not for that more turbulent or more proud. 
 Equable in its moods, modest in its ways, it is a de- 
 corous brook, with no affectation of pretensions on 
 passing at the foot of a royal court, an episcopal pal- 
 ace, and a prefecture. If you pursue the path, walk- 
 ing up-stream, after a couple of hours you will come 
 upon a valley moulded by the circular expansion of 
 two hills, between which the Clain has carved its 
 bed. Imagine two verdant amphitheatres, uplifted 
 
 4
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 face to face, and separated by the river that reflects 
 them both. An ancient bridge, with arches set with 
 moss and maiden-hair, is thrown across from shore 
 <to shore. At this spot, the Clain, widening with the 
 swelling banks in which it is embosomed, forms a 
 basin of still waters, unruffled as a mirror, which 
 might indeed be taken for a sheet of glass, till at the 
 weir the crystal breaks and floats in iridescent dust. 
 
 To the right, seated proudly on the uplands, the 
 Chateau de la Seigliere, a very jewel of the Renais- 
 sance period, contemplates the bosky windings of the 
 park beneath; while to the left, on the opposite bank, 
 and partly hidden by a grove of oaks, the modest 
 Castel de Vaubert seems to watch the superb atti- 
 tude of its opulent neighbour with an air of suffering 
 humility. 
 
 This corner of the earth will please you, and if 
 you have been previously told the story of the drama 
 enacted in the theatre of this peaceful valley, you 
 may perhaps in visiting it experience something of 
 the mysterious charm that is felt on revisiting the 
 sacred scenes of history; perchance you may discover 
 vanished traces on this velvet sward; perchance you 
 will wander to and fro with slow and dreaming steps, 
 invoking here a shade, and there a memory. 
 
 Sole heir to a name destined to expire with him, 
 the last Marquis de la Seigliere lived royally upon 
 
 5
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 /MS estates, hunting, keeping up great style, doing 
 well by his peasants without prejudice to his privi- 
 leges, when of a sudden the soil trembled, and a hol- 
 low rumbling made itself heard, like the sound of the 
 sea, when it is about to be uplifted by a tempest. It 
 was the prelude to the great storm that was on the 
 point of shaking the world. The Marquis de la Sei- 
 gliere was in no way troubled by it, hardly disturbing 
 himself at all. He belonged to those heedless and 
 charming beings who, having seen nothing, and un- 
 derstood nothing, of what was passing around them, 
 allowed themselves to be surprised by the revolu- 
 tionary flood, as children are by the rising tide. 
 Whether chasing the stag in mid-forest, or seated 
 luxuriously upon the cushions of his carriage, beside 
 his young and beautiful wife, enjoying the sensation 
 of driving behind his galloping horses, under the 
 shade of his trees, over the sand of his woodland 
 alleys; whether, from the height of his balcony, he 
 contemplated with pride his meadows, cornfields, 
 forests, farms, and droves in fact, from whatever 
 point of view he studied the social and political ques- 
 tion, the present order seemed to him to be so per- 
 fectly organized that he did not admit the possibil- 
 ity of any serious consideration of replacing it by. 
 something better. 
 
 At the same time, less from prudence than from 
 good form, he joined in the first emigration, which 
 
 6
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 was, in point of fact, nothing more than a pleasure 
 party, a trip enjoined by fashion and fancy a mere 
 matter of letting the rainy day go by and giving the 
 heavens time to clear again. Instead, however, of 
 blowing over, the shower threatened to become a 
 deadly storm, and the heavens, far from clearing, 
 belched clouds of blood, and discharged themselves 
 in lightnings and thunder-bolts. 
 
 The marquis began to perceive that matters 
 might be far more serious, and last much longer than 
 he had at first anticipated. He hastily returned to 
 France, quickly gathered up as much as he was able 
 to realize of his enormous fortune, and hurried oil 
 to join his wife, who was waiting for him on the 
 banks of the Rhine. They retired to a little town 
 in Germany, set up a modest household, and lived in 
 unadorned mediocrity the marquise full of grace 
 and resignation and of touching beauty, the marquis 
 full of hope and confidence in the future until the 
 day came when he learned in a succession of blows 
 that a handful of scamps, without bread or shoe- 
 leather, had not scrupled to defeat the armies of the 
 rightful cause, and that one of his farmers, Jean 
 Stamply by name, had permitted himself to buy, and 
 now possessed, as his own and lawful property, the 
 park and chateau of La Seigliere. 
 
 So long as Stamplys and La Seiglieres had ex- 
 isted there had always been Stamplys in the service 
 
 2 VoL 7 7
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 of the latter so much so that the Stamplys had good 
 reason to boast that they dated from as far back as 
 the family of their masters. They represented one of 
 those races of devoted and faithful servants, the type 
 of which has disappeared with the large, seigneurial 
 properties. From at first, from father to son, being 
 simple rangers, the Stamplys had become farmers. 
 Little by little, by dint of hard work and economy, 
 thanks also to the favours of the chateau, which 
 never failed them, they found themselves eventually 
 the owners of a certain wealth. No one knew the 
 exact amount of their fortune, but they were held to 
 be richer than they would admit; and no one in the 
 country was surprised when, after the decree of 
 the Convention which proclaimed the whole of the 
 territory of the emigres to be national property, 
 the abode of his former masters was knocked down 
 to Jean Stamply at the auction. Having accom- 
 plished this, he continued to live on his farm as 
 before, active, industrious, keeping himself to him- 
 self; buying silently, bit by bit, at the lowest prices, 
 the lands that had already been sold or that re- 
 mained in sequestration; each year reuniting, read- 
 justing some new fragments of the dismembered 
 property. 
 
 Finally, when France was beginning to breathe 
 once more, and tranquility again reasserted itself, 
 on a certain fine spring morning he placed his wife 
 
 8
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 and son in the wicker carriage that was his custom- 
 ary vehicle, and, seating himself on the shaft, whip 
 in one hand and reins in the other, set out to take 
 possession of the chateau that formed, as it were, 
 the capital of his little kingdom. 
 
 This taking possession was less triumphant and 
 less joyous than you might be pleased to suppose. 
 In passing through those vast apartments, to which 
 desertion had lent a grave and solemn character 
 beneath those ceilings, upon those parquets, between 
 those wainscots still impregnated with the memory 
 of the ancient owners, Mme. Stamply, who was in 
 last resort nothing but a worthy farmer's wife, felt 
 singularly troubled. When she found herself before 
 the portrait of the marquise, whom she at once rec- 
 ognised by her gay and gracious smile, the good 
 woman could no longer contain herself. Stamply 
 himself could not shake off a strong emotion that he 
 did not try to dissimulate. 
 
 " See, Jean," said his wife, drying her eyes, " do 
 not let us stay here; we should be uneasy. Already I 
 feel ashamed of our fortune, when I think that Mme. 
 la Marquise may perhaps be enduring misery. It is 
 all very well to tell myself that we have worked hard 
 for this good luck; I feel almost remorseful about it. 
 Does it not seem to you that these portraits are 
 watching us with an air of irritation, and are on the 
 verge of speaking? Let us go. This chateau was 
 
 9
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 not built for us; we should have bad nights in it 
 Believe me, it is already too much that we should 
 want for nothing, while there are La Seiglieres in 
 misery. Come, let us go back to our farm. Your 
 father died there; your son was born there; it is 
 there that we have lived happily. Let us continue to 
 live our simple life. Honest people will be pleased 
 with us, the envious will respect us; and God, seeing 
 that we enjoy our riches with modesty, will behold 
 us without anger, and will bless our fields and our 
 little Bernard." 
 
 Thus the farmer's wife, for her heart was in the 
 right place, and though she had no education to start 
 with, she was a woman of good sense and sound 
 judgment. Seeing that her husband was listening to 
 her thoughtfully, and appeared on the verge of yield- 
 ing, she doubled her entreaties; but Stamply soon 
 got the upper hand of the emotion that he had at 
 first been unable to repress. He had received a cer- 
 tain amount of instruction, and had rubbed up 
 against the new ideas. While retaining some meas- 
 ure of respect and even of gratitude for the Marquis 
 de la Seigliere, though less than for the marquise, 
 in proportion as he had grown richer, the instincts 
 of the proprietor had gained upon him, and of late 
 had finally invaded and absorbed him. Moreover, 
 he had a child, and children are at all times a mar- 
 vellous pretext for encouraging and legitimizing 
 
 10
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 any family excesses of egoism, and abuses of per- 
 sonal interest. 
 
 " All that is well and good," he said in his turn, 
 " but a chateau is made to be inhabited, and you 
 surely don't suppose we have bought this one in 
 order to pen up our sheep and cattle in it. If our 
 masters have left the country, it is not our fault; it 
 is not we that have outlawed their persons and se- 
 questered their goods. We have not stolen this 
 property; we hold it in virtue of our labour, and 
 from the nation. There are no more masters; all 
 titles have been abolished, all Frenchmen are free 
 and equal, and I do not know why the Stamplys 
 should sleep less well here than the La Seiglieres." 
 
 " Hush, hush, Stamply! " cried the farmer's wife. 
 " Respect misfortune; do not outrage the family that 
 has nourished yours from all time." 
 
 " I do not outrage any one," replied Stamply, a 
 little confused. " I only say that even if we went 
 on living at the farm it in no way alters the ques- 
 tion; as far as I can see, there are only rats here to 
 profit. It is true that we are only peasants. I admit 
 that our education and our position do not harmo- 
 nize; but if we suffer from that we must take care that 
 our son does not pay for it also in his turn. It is our 
 duty to bring him up in the position which our for- 
 tune will permit him to take up later on. Shall you 
 want much pity when you see that monkey Bernard 
 
 ii
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 with a sword at his side and two gold-beaded epau- 
 lets? And for yourself, why, I should like to know, 
 at the end of the chapter, should you not become, 
 like Mme. la Marquise, the providence of this coun- 
 try-side, and the ornament of the chateau? " 
 
 " If our son does not grow up in a chateau he will 
 have all the more stuff in him, and when Mme. la 
 Marquise abandoned her dwelling she did not leave 
 the secret of her beauty and her grace behind her," 
 replied the good woman stoutly, tossing her head. 
 " Look you, Stamply, those people had something 
 which will always be wanting in ourselves; you may 
 rob them of their lands, but you will never take that 
 other thing from them." 
 
 "Well, then, we shall do without; let them keep 
 it, and much good may it do them. At all events, 
 here we are at home, and here we are going to 
 stay." 
 
 What was said was done. The season was verg- 
 ing on that of spring, the first of the century. Little 
 Bernard was at most eight years old. He was, in 
 the fullest sense of the word, an urchin, eminently 
 endowed with all the charms of his age noisy, ob- 
 stinate, romping, unmanageable, hanging on to all 
 the rascals of the village, alternately beating and 
 being beaten, never returning home without a torn 
 waistcoat or a bruise on his face. In the first place 
 Stamply procured a tutor for this amiable child ; then, 
 
 12
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 intrusting to a pedagogue the charge of making him 
 into a man, prepared to enjoy peacefully and unos- 
 tentatiously the position he had made for himself by 
 the co-operation of his own labour and of events. 
 Unfortunately it was inscribed above that his life was 
 to be one long and seldom intermitted series of 
 mortifications, tribulations, and of appalling mis- 
 fortunes. 
 
 At the outset, young Stamply showed himself as 
 rebellious as he could to the benefits of education; 
 not that he was wanting in intelligence and aptitude, 
 but inasmuch as he had an untamable nature, the 
 turbulent instincts of which stifled or contradicted 
 all the rest. 
 
 He wore out the patience of three tutors in suc- 
 cession, till, weary of the struggle, they relinquished 
 the task after losing their Latin over it. Himself 
 discouraged, Pere Stamply resolved on placing his 
 son in one of the Paris lycees, hoping that banishment, 
 dry-bread impositions, and the military regime which 
 governed the colleges at that period would overcome 
 the nature of the cherub. The separation was not 
 effected without laceration. Such as we have de- 
 scribed him, Bernard was the love, the pride, and 
 the joy of his mother. When she saw him go, the 
 worthy woman felt that her heart was breaking; 
 when she took him in her arms at the hour of part- 
 ing, she had a kind of presentiment that she would 
 
 13
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 never see him again, and that she was embracing 
 him for the last time. 
 
 And, in fact, the poor mother was destined never 
 to see her son again. Her health had altered per- 
 ceptibly. Accustomed to work on the farm, the 
 idleness of her life devoured her. By day she wan- 
 dered like a soul in purgatory through her apart- 
 ments; at night, when she succeeded in sleeping, she 
 dreamed that she saw the Marquise de la Seigliere 
 asking alms at the door of her chateau. There was 
 no one but Bernard to make a cheerful movement 
 around her, a little life and gaiety. When the house 
 no longer rang with his joyous voice, and the farm- 
 er's wife no longer had her little Bernard at hand, 
 to enliven and distract her, she felt overcome with 
 sombre melancholy, and ere long began to pine 
 away. It was some time before her husband no- 
 ticed it. He had kept up his habits of work and 
 of activity. He was rarely at home, roamed in- 
 cessantly over hills and valleys, kept an eye on 
 everything, and sometimes gave himself the satis- 
 faction of shooting a few hares and partridges on 
 the estates where his ancestors had guarded the 
 seigneurial game. At last, however, he remarked 
 the languid condition of the sad and humble chat- 
 elaine. 
 
 " What is the matter with you? " he said some- 
 times. " You ought to be a happy woman. What 
 
 14
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 do you want? What is missing? Tell me what you 
 desire." 
 
 "Alas!" she would reply, "I miss the modest 
 comfort of our former days. I should like to milk 
 our cows and churn our butter as of old. I should 
 like to make soup for our shepherds and our farm- 
 hands; I want to see my little Bernard again; I 
 would like to bring our eggs, our cream, our steam- 
 ing milk here every morning. Don't you remember, 
 Stamply, how much Mme. la Marquise used to like 
 our cream! Who knows if the dear soul has any so 
 good nowadays? " 
 
 "Tut! tut!" replied Stamply; "cream is cream, 
 all the world over. You may be sure that Mme. la 
 Marquise wants for nothing. The marquis did not 
 go off empty-handed, and I will take my oath that he 
 has more good louis d'or in his strong drawer than the 
 rest of us have wretched crown pieces. If he didn't 
 carry off his chateau, park, and lands in his port- 
 folio we can't help that; it is no use finding fault with 
 us on that account. As to your little Bernard, you 
 will see him fast enough; the scamp is not dead. 
 Think you that instead of sending him off to study 
 and to get his education, it would have been more 
 reasonable to keep him here to look for birds'-nests 
 in the summer, and in winter to play snowball with 
 all the good-for-nothings of the country? " 
 
 " No matter, Stamply, this is not our place, 
 IS
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 and it was an evil day on which we quitted our 
 farm." 
 
 On hearing these words, which were repeated in- 
 cessantly in every conversation with his wife, Stamply 
 shrugged his shoulders, and departed in a bad tem- 
 per. The evil, however, grew apace. Enfeebled in 
 mind, with a timid conscience, the poor chatelaine 
 soon began to ask herself in terror if her husband 
 had not cheated her, if the thing had been accom- 
 plished as honestly as he said, if it were true that 
 all this wealth had been legitimately acquired, and 
 that the chateau had no reproach to make against 
 the probity of the farm. Thanks to her perpetual 
 preoccupation, she passed promptly from doubt to 
 conviction, from scruple to remorse. Thenceforward 
 she atrophied under the notion that Stamply had 
 stolen from his masters, and traitorously dispossessed 
 them. In a little while this became a monomania, 
 which gave her neither peace nor rest. Notwith- 
 standing all the efforts of her husband to convince 
 her that she was mad, her mania developed. At this 
 stage Stamply, who thought he would be driven out 
 of his own senses, found himself obliged to shut her 
 up and keep watch over her, for she went all over 
 the place repeating that her husband, herself, and 
 her son were nothing but a family of rogues, bandits, 
 and extortioners. She died in a state of excitement 
 impossible to describe, believing that she heard the 
 
 16
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 police coming to arrest her, and imploring her hus- 
 band to give back to the La Seiglieres their chateau 
 and the whole demesne " happy," she added with 
 her last breath, " if he could at this price save his 
 head from the scaffold, and his soul from eternal 
 fire." 
 
 Maitre Stamply was not altogether one of the 
 strong-minded. Apart from the grief he felt, the 
 death of his wife affected him strangely. Although 
 he pretended to a certain disdain for the aristocracy, 
 at bottom he cherished a fund of antiquated venera- 
 tion for the masters he had replaced; and though, 
 on questioning his conscience, he had judged himself 
 blameless, he could not help being often troubled 
 at the remembrance. Still, the funereal impressions 
 once dispersed, he pursued the tenor of his life, and 
 set all his thoughts and his ambitions upon his ab- 
 sent son. 
 
 At sixteen, when his education was completed, 
 Bernard came home. He was then a fine young 
 man tall, slender, with a fiery heart, a lightning 
 glance, filled with the ardent impulses of his age, 
 and still further stimulated by the bellicose influ- 
 ence of an epoch enamoured of glory and combat. 
 Till now the life at the chateau had not differed 
 greatly from that at the farm. After the return of 
 Bernard, everything took on a different complexion. 
 Ignorant of the facts of the past, having but a vague 
 
 17
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 memory of the La Seiglieres, with a confused idea 
 of the events that had enriched him, this young man 
 could enjoy the advantages of his position without 
 scruple, without trouble, and without remorse. 
 Young, he had all the tastes, all the instincts of 
 youth. He hunted, rode his horses to death, aston- 
 ished the country-side by the luxury of his equi- 
 pages, and did his best to scatter the parental fortune 
 all to the entire satisfaction of the worthy Stamply, 
 who was beside himself with pleasure at recognising 
 in his son these manners of a grand seigneur. Noth- 
 ing could have been better, when Bernard went one 
 morning to look for his father, and delivered himself 
 as follows: 
 
 " Father, I love you, and ought to be happy in 
 merely passing my life beside you. Yet I am weary, 
 and my one wish is to go away. What can you ex- 
 pect? I am eighteen, and it is shameful to waste 
 one's powder on rabbits, when one might consume it 
 gloriously in the service of France. The existence I 
 am leading stifles and kills me. Night after night 
 I see the Emperor, on horseback, at the head of his 
 battalions, and start up, thinking that I hear the 
 sound of cannon. The hour has struck for the ac- 
 complishment of my dream. Would you rather see 
 my youth consumed in vain pleasures? If you love 
 me you ought to be proud in your tenderness. Do 
 not weep. Smile rather in thinking of the happiness 
 
 18
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 of the return. What joy, indeed! what revels! I 
 shall come back a colonel. I shall hang my cross up 
 by your bedside, and at night, at the corner of the 
 fire, I shall tell you about my battles." 
 
 And the cruel boy went off. Neither remon- 
 strances, nor tears, nor prayers could keep him back. 
 At that epoch they were all the same. Soon his 
 letters were arriving like glorious bulletins, all ex- 
 haling the smell of powder, all written the day after 
 a battle. Enlisted as volunteer in a cavalry regi- 
 ment, non-commissioned officer after the battle of 
 Essling, officer a month later, after the battle of 
 .Wagram, he was noticed by the Emperor, he ad- 
 vanced in strides, pushed on by the demon of glory. 
 He was one of those who proved, after Puisaye, that 
 one practical year is worth more than all manoeuvres 
 and apprenticeships on parade. Each of his letters 
 was a hymn to the war and to the hero who was its 
 god. When at the beginning of 1811 his regiment 
 came to Paris, Bernard profited by a few days' holi- 
 day to go and embrace his father. How charming he 
 was in his uniform as lieutenant of hussars! How 
 well the blue dolman with its silver braiding showed 
 off the elegance of his figure, slim and supple as the 
 shoot of a young poplar! How gallantly he wore 
 the fur-bordered pelisse across his shoulder! How 
 proudly the brown mustache curled away from his 
 fine and rosy lip! How magnificent he looked with 
 
 19
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 his big sabre, and what a noise the parquet made 
 under his sounding spurs! Stamply never tired of 
 looking at him with a feeling of naive admiration, 
 kissing his hands the while, and wondering if this 
 could really be his own offspring. 
 
 Like the setting sun, the imperial star was shin- 
 ing with its most brilliant light, when a mortal shud- 
 der passed through the heart of France. An army of 
 500,000 men, among whom the mother-country reck- 
 oned 270,000 of her strongest and most valiant sons, 
 had just passed the Niemen to strike a blow at Eng- 
 land through the icy breast of Russia. Bernard's regi- 
 ment formed part of the cavalry reserve commanded 
 by Murat. A letter dated from Wilna was received 
 at the chateau, and then another, in which Bernard 
 related that he had been made a major after the 
 affair at Volontina, then a third; after that, nothing. 
 Days and weeks and months went by; no news 
 came. It was only known that a battle, the most 
 terrible of modern times, had been fought in the 
 plains of the Moskova, the victory having cost 
 20,000 men to the French army. Twenty thou- 
 sand men killed, and no letters! The Emperor is 
 at Moscow, but there are no letters from Bernard. 
 Stamply still hopes; he tells himself that it is a far 
 cry from the Chateau de la Seigliere to the Krem- 
 lin, and that at such distances the postal service 
 could not be very regular, above all in time of war. 
 
 20
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 Then sinister reports begin to circulate; very soon 
 these dull rumours change into a cry of terror, and 
 mourning France counts in stupefaction the little 
 remaining to her of her legions. What was happen- 
 ing at the chateau? What happened, alas, in all 
 the poor distracted hearts that were seeking a son 
 in the ranks that had been thinned by cold and 
 grape-shot? When Stamply at last made up his mind 
 to address inquiries to the Minister of War in order 
 to ascertain the fate of Bernard, he had not long 
 to wait for an answer. Bernard had been killed at 
 the battle of the Moskova. 
 
 Grief does not kill. Stamply still stood erect. 
 Only he aged by twenty years in the course of a 
 few months, and was for some time steeped in a sort 
 of melancholy resembling imbecility. He was to be 
 met, in sunshine or in rain, wandering across his 
 fields, bareheaded, with a smile upon his lips, that 
 vague and uncertain smile that is sadder and more 
 heart-breaking than tears. When he emerged from 
 this state the poor old man began by slow degrees 
 to notice what he had never stayed to think about 
 before the fact, namely, that he had round him 
 neither friendships nor relations of any kind, and that 
 he was living in absolute isolation. He even fancied 
 himself an object of contempt and of general repro- 
 bation in the country. 
 
 And, in truth, this had been the case for many 
 21
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 years. As long as the Terror lasted, and while 
 Maitre Stamply remained modestly on his farm, the 
 neighbours round had paid little attention to his for- 
 tune and successive acquisitions. But when calmer 
 days succeeded to that time of frenzy, and the farm- 
 er had installed himself publicly in the seigneurial 
 chateau, people began to open their eyes. When, 
 finally, armorial bearings and titles reappeared on 
 the waters, like the debris from the flood, a formida- 
 ble concert of abuse and calumny was hurled from all 
 sides against the unhappy chatelaine. What they said! 
 What did they not say? Some that he had thieved, 
 had ruined, expelled, and dispossessed his masters. 
 Others that he had only been the secret agent of the 
 marquis and marquise, and that by an abuse of their 
 confidence he refused to give up the lands and cha- 
 teau that he had bought back with the money of the 
 La Seiglieres. The worthy souls, who in '93 would 
 have rejoiced to see the marquis lose his head, now 
 took to chanting his praises, and wept over his exile. 
 The fools and rogues enjoyed themselves to their 
 hearts' content; even in the eyes of honest people 
 the probity of the Stamplys was, to say the least of 
 it, equivocal. The sad end of the good mistress of 
 the farm, the remorse by which she was consumed 
 in her latter days, gave weight to the most outrage- 
 ous suppositions. Bernard's mode of life during his 
 stay with his father had put the finishing touches 
 
 22
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 to the general envy. In Poitiers and in the environs 
 the hue and cry had been universal. Even the death 
 of the young man afforded merely a fresh pretext for 
 insult; people recognised in it the expression of di- 
 vine anger, the expiation, richly merited, yet all too 
 mild, in the eyes of some of the judges. Far from 
 pitying Stamply, they overwhelmed him; instead of 
 being softened at his fate, they flung the corpse of 
 his son at his head. 
 
 So long as Bernard had lived, and while Stamply 
 was absorbed in his paternal joy and pride, he had 
 not merely failed to notice the kind of reprobation 
 that was hanging over him, but had further no sus- 
 picion of the calumnies spread abroad as to his af- 
 fairs. Things usually fall out thus; the world is pre- 
 occupied, is agitated, uneasy, and cries aloud, while 
 for the most part the persons against whom all the 
 disturbance is directed stay peacefully and happily 
 in their own corner, without even suspecting the 
 honour done them by their world. 
 
 When, however, after the death of the son who 
 had been his universe, Stamply cast despairing looks 
 around him here and there, and failed to find one 
 friendly hand, one loving heart, one kindly counte- 
 nance, the poor man at last came to perceive that a 
 sort of sanitary cordon had been drawn round him. 
 His peasants and his farmers hated him, because he 
 had left their ranks; the gentry of the neighbourhood 
 
 23
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 turned away when he came within their range of 
 vision without returning his greeting, while latterly 
 the very urchins had insulted him and flung stones 
 at him when he passed through the village. " See," 
 they said to each other, " here comes that old rogue 
 Stamply, who made his fortune by plundering his 
 masters! " And Stamply would pass on, his head 
 bent, his eyes filled with tears. His spirit, bent al- 
 ready by the double burden of age and sorrow, gave 
 way finally under the expressions of public con- 
 tempt; his conscience, which had been easy, began 
 to trouble him anew. In short, within his chateau, 
 in the midst of his vast demesne, he lived solitary, 
 proscribed, and miserable.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 A WHILE ago I pointed out to you the Castel de 
 Vaubert, half hidden by a clump of oaks, and con- 
 templating with an air of melancholy the proud 
 fagade of the chateau that dominates the two banks 
 of the Clain. The Castel de Vaubert did not always 
 present the humble aspect it assumes to-day. Before 
 the Revolution swept over this district it was a vast 
 chateau, with towers and bastions, drawbridges and 
 moats, battlements and platforms a fortified castle 
 whose imposing mass overwhelmed the elegant and 
 floriated architecture of its refined and gracious 
 neighbour. The domain that lay round it, and had 
 from time immemorial constituted the barony of 
 Vaubert, gave place, neither in extent nor in value, 
 to the property of the La Seiglieres. To speak of 
 the La Seiglieres and the De Vauberts was to name 
 the masters of the country. Apart from some little 
 rivalry, inevitable between neighbours of such high 
 pretensions, the two houses had always lived on 
 terms of almost perfect intimacy, which had of late 
 been knit all the more closely by the apprehension of 
 a common danger. Both families emigrated on the 
 
 25
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 same day, pursued the same route, and selected the 
 same corner of alien land on which to live, even more 
 closely allied in misfortune than they had been in 
 prosperity. They gathered up all that could be real- 
 ized of their wealth and settled themselves under one 
 roof, with community of goods, of hopes, and of re- 
 gretsof more regrets than hopes, of greater hopes 
 than wealth. M. de Vaubert, like the marquis, had 
 a wife, and also a son, who was still a child, and fated 
 to grow up in exile. 
 
 These patricians, who were overwhelmed with 
 calumny, now that it was so easy to slander them, at 
 all events showed in their times of trial that they 
 were capable of supporting bad fortune as though 
 they had never known better days. These poor souls 
 who were accustomed to luxury and idleness, these 
 light-minded aristocrats, who were mostly frivolous 
 and dissipated, exhibited in the days of their tribula- 
 tion an unexpected fund of energy, of courage, and 
 of cheerful resignation. And so the little colony we 
 are concerned with settled gaily down to poverty, 
 and attacked their new life with amiable philosophy. 
 The house they occupied, in the outskirts of the city, 
 consisted of a central block of buildings, flanked by 
 two pavilions: one they called the Chateau de Vau- 
 bert, the other the Chateau de la Seigliere. By day 
 they exchanged visits, in accordance with the laws of 
 etiquette; in the evening the families met in the com- 
 
 26
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 mon salon. Exquisite courtesy and fine manners dis- 
 tinguished each member of the little coterie. Mme. 
 de la Seigliere and Mme. de Vaubert contributed the 
 charm of their graces and their beauty. The former 
 was already a prey to the melancholy indifference 
 that characterizes those who are to die before their 
 time; the latter, of a less poetic nature, an active, 
 stirring, adventurous creature, was fitted to grace a 
 wider theatre, amid the intrigues that were weaving 
 then in the salons of Vienna and of Coblentz. They 
 consoled themselves with a witty jest; they revenged 
 themselves with a sarcasm; they were never angry. 
 All this philosophy rested, one is bound to confess, 
 upon a great fund of illusions and a complete mis- 
 apprehension of facts. Speaking generally, this was 
 the secret of the courage, energy, and facile resig- 
 nation which we recognised above with admiration. 
 They persisted in thinking that the great work now 
 in progress was nothing more than an outrageous 
 parade, conducted by a band of assassins. From 
 month to month they anticipated the speedy chas- 
 tisement, and return to reason, of France. The ruin 
 of their hopes produced a singular modification in 
 these good people, and led them forcibly to a more 
 just and more sensible appreciation of the events 
 that had been accomplished. 
 
 As soon as these children who had lightly played 
 at exile began to understand that the game was in 
 
 27
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigltere 
 
 earnest, and that they were being taken at their 
 word, several of their number thought seriously of 
 returning to France: some to join in the conspiracies 
 of the royalist party, who were then beginning to 
 agitate in the sections of Paris, others to endeavour, 
 if there should yet be time, to recover some remnants 
 of their property. The Baron de Vaubert was among 
 these latter. To tell the truth, he had never been 
 very enthusiastic on the subject of emigration. His 
 wife had dragged him into it, in spite of himself, and 
 he clung to the conviction that he might, with a 
 little skill, have kept both his head and his estates. 
 The Marquis de la Seigliere, whether from firmness 
 or from obstinacy, having declared that he would 
 only re-enter France with his legitimate masters, M. 
 de Vaubert departed alone, meaning either to re- 
 turn to his wife and son, or send for them to join 
 him, according to the result of his proceedings and 
 the course of events. 
 
 M. de Vaubert found his chateau mutilated, his 
 battlements demolished, his moats filled up, his es- 
 cutcheons broken, his lands parcelled out, his prop- 
 erty sold. He was practical enough, once delivered 
 from the chivalrous hallucinations, to which he could 
 not pardon himself for having been, even momen- 
 tarily, their dupe. Returning under a false name, 
 he eventually got himself struck off the list of hnigres, 
 and reclaimed his proper rank as soon as the upper 
 
 28
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 classes of society began to reconstitute themselves. 
 He had now only to regain his barony; and to this 
 end he devoted every faculty. 
 
 Nothing can equal adversity in developing those 
 industrial instincts in a man which, taken all to- 
 gether, make up that evil genius known as the busi- 
 ness mind. It is fair to say that the moment was 
 well chosen. In an epoch alike of ruin and of rise, if 
 the old fortunes crumbled like a house of cards, the 
 new fortunes cropped up like mushrooms after a 
 rainy day. There was room for every conceivable 
 ambition; the soil was cumbered with parvenus; pri- 
 vate individuals enriched themselves from day to 
 day by gambling in hazardous speculations, and in 
 the midst of private prosperity the state alone could, 
 properly speaking, be termed destitute. M. de Vau- 
 bert flung himself into business with the adven- 
 turous audacity of people who have nothing more 
 to lose. Not allowing himself to be discouraged by 
 the difficulty of the enterprise, he gallantly proposed 
 to reconquer and rebuild the inheritance he had re- 
 ceived from his fathers, and had at heart to trans- 
 mit to his son. Years, however, passed before his 
 efforts were crowned with success, and it was not 
 till 1810 that he was able to buy up what remained 
 of his manor, with a portion of the surrounding 
 estate. He had got thus far in his task, and hoped 
 to bring it to a successful issue, when death surprised 
 
 29
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 him just as he had written to summon his wife and 
 son, whom he had not seen for nearly fifteen years. 
 What, meantime, had befallen the exiles? The 
 marquis had grown old; Mme. de Vaubert was no 
 longer young; her son Raoul was eighteen; Mme. de 
 la Seigliere had died ten years before, in giving birth 
 to a daughter, who was named Helene, and promised 
 to be as beautiful as her mother. On receiving M. 
 de Vaubert's letter the baronne decided to set out 
 immediately. The parting was a sorrowful one. 
 Notwithstanding the difference of age, the two chil- 
 dren loved each other tenderly. Mme. de Vaubert 
 and the Marquis de la Seigliere had become intimate 
 from habit and from their common misfortune. 
 Some evil tongues asserted that they had found mu- 
 tual consolation during their widowhood; with these 
 foolish sallies we have no concern. The fact is that, 
 at the moment of parting, they felt agitated and 
 troubled. They were old friends. The baronne 
 urged the marquis and his daughter to accompany 
 her, inviting them to continue at Vaubert the life 
 they had led in a foreign land, and hinting at her 
 desire that Helene and Raoul should one day be 
 united. The marquis did not deny that such a mar- 
 riage would consummate his dearest wishes; he had 
 more than once cherished a secret dream to the same 
 effect. He took note of the proposal of the baronne, 
 and the two children were henceforward affianced to 
 
 30
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 each other. As to the offer of returning to France, 
 and establishing himself at Vaubert, M. de la Seig- 
 liere, while grieved to part from his companions in 
 misfortune, let it be plainly understood that the pro- 
 posal was repugnant to him. In twenty years his 
 ideas had not advanced a step. He could not par- 
 don M. de Vaubert for having compromised his 
 name over the army contracts, and he was not the 
 man to share the advantages of a fortune purchased 
 at such a price. Finally, nothing in the world would 
 have induced him to view from such close quarters 
 the ancient throne of France in the possession of a 
 usurper and the La Seigliere estates in the hands of 
 one of his own farmers. In his eyes Bonaparte and 
 Stamply were only two bandits, whom he ranked in 
 the same category; the one he called the Stamply of 
 the Bourbons, the other the Napoleon of the La 
 Seiglieres. His conversation was curious and enter- 
 taining upon this subject; otherwise he was an ami- 
 able gentleman whom no one could help loving. In 
 short, he was fuil of confidence in a future that was 
 to reinstate the monarchy in its integrity, and its 
 servants in their estates, rights, and privileges, and 
 insisted that he would never set foot in France -till 
 the Stamplys of all kinds had been driven out, some 
 at the point of the cane, others at the mouth of the 
 cannon. 
 
 The return of Mme. de Vaubert was a perfect 
 3-VoL 7 3 1
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 epic of poignant deceptions and bitter disenchant- 
 ments. From the letter of her husband, who entered 
 into no details, and until now had always exagger- 
 ated the success of his enterprises, the baronne had 
 supposed that she was going to find her chateau, 
 with all its dependencies, in much the same state as 
 when she left it. At Poitiers she was not a little 
 surprised at not finding M. de Vaubert, with the 
 family carriage, since she had taken care to announce 
 the day of her arrival. M. de Vaubert had good 
 reason for not keeping the rendezvous, but the ba- 
 ronne was far from suspecting it. As she was impa- 
 tient to reach her estates, she took her son's arm, 
 and together, having reached the banks of the Clain, 
 they followed the path that led to Vaubert. 
 
 One must have grown old in exile to comprehend 
 the emotions that surged in this woman's breast as 
 she drank in deep breaths, and recognised by its 
 scent the country air of the region where she had 
 passed the heyday of her youth. Her bosom swelled, 
 and her eyes filled with tears. It must be said to her 
 credit that she was touched not merely by the sense 
 of her recovered property. She had experienced the 
 same emotions on setting foot upon the soil of 
 France; only at this moment a more subtle intoxica- 
 tion was naturally mingled with them. For, if we 
 justly scorn the egoism of those narrow souls who 
 limit the fatherland to the extent of their own do- 
 
 32
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 mains, it is also just to recognise that the paternal 
 fields and the hereditary roof are as a second father- 
 land within one's country. Raoul, who had no recol- 
 lection of the neighbourhood, did not participate in 
 the emotions of his mother; but his young heart 
 leaped with joy and pride at the thought that the 
 chateau, the woods, the farms, the meadows, so often 
 beheld in his dreams as a fairy shore, were here at 
 hand, and that at last he was in touch with the 
 baronial opulence of which he had heard so often, 
 and after which he had always sighed. As they pro- 
 ceeded, Mme. de Vaubert showed him the ocean 
 of verdure that unrolled itself before them, and ex- 
 claimed with rapture, " All this, my son, belongs to 
 you!" She rejoiced in the transports of the young 
 man, looking forward most of all to his introduction 
 to the Gothic manor of his ancestors, a very fortress 
 from without, a veritable palace breathing the ac- 
 cumulated luxury of ten generations within. She 
 was, however, surprised at meeting neither M. de 
 Vaubert nor any deputation of farmers and young 
 people from the village, who would naturally hasten 
 to celebrate her return and to offer her flowers and 
 homage. Raoul himself, who, though brought up in 
 the lap of privation, had none the less been edu- 
 cated in the ideas of his race, with which he had 
 early been inoculated from the conversations of 
 his mother with the Marquis de la Seigliere, won- 
 
 33
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 dered a little sadly at the want of enthusiasm dis- 
 played during their progress. But, merciful heav- 
 ens, what was the stupor of the baronne, when, on 
 turning the corner of the path, the vestiges of her 
 pleasance and chateau were revealed to her, while 
 Raoul, seeing his mother transfixed in dumb dis- 
 may, asked what the ruin was that she was staring 
 at! At first she refused to believe her eyes; the 
 sun had just set, and she seriously believed this to 
 be the effect of the twilight, and herself the victim 
 of some novel mirage. Nevertheless, she accom- 
 plished the rest of her journey with a step that was 
 less firm and a heart less joyous. Alas, it was but 
 too true! The pleasance had disappeared, and only 
 a clump of oaks was left of it. The chateau was 
 nothing but a mutilated body, the scars of which 
 were hidden in a shroud of ivy. The moats had been 
 converted into kitchen-gardens, the chapel existed 
 no longer, the turrets had crumbled away, the fagade 
 was in ruins. Not one servant was on the threshold! 
 not a single gun was fired! no flowers! no speeches! 
 no sound other than the cries of the swallows circling 
 in the blue evening sky! Everywhere, on all sides, 
 solitude and the silence of the tomb. Mme. de Vau- 
 bert still advanced, while her son repeated, as he fol- 
 lowed her in astonishment: "But where are we go- 
 ing? Where are you taking me, mother? " 
 
 The baronne went on silently. As she entered 
 34
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 this denuded nest her limbs gave way, and she felt 
 that her heart was breaking. The interior was even 
 more gloomy and desolate than had been suggested 
 from without. The parquet floors had rotted, the 
 panelling, together with the hangings of damask and 
 Dutch leather, had been stripped off; the pictures, 
 the Gothic furniture, the Renaissance appointments, 
 all were gone. Empty halls, deserted apartments, 
 bare and decaying walls, were all that met the eye; 
 only here and there, on the ceilings, was there any 
 trace of gilding; at the windows any shred of silk 
 that had been forgotten, discoloured by the damp, 
 and gnawed by rats. 
 
 " What is this place we are in, mother? " asked 
 Raoul, casting astonished glances round him. Mme. 
 de Vaubert went from room to room, and did not 
 answer. At length, after vainly seeking for a living 
 soul amid the debris, she found an old, old servant 
 sleeping soundly in the chimney-corner. She shook 
 him violently by the arm, crying repeatedly in a loud, 
 imperious voice, " Where is M. de Vaubert? " 
 
 " M. de Vaubert, madame," the old man an- 
 swered, rubbing his eyes, " M. de Vaubert is in the 
 cemetery." 
 
 " You are a fool, man! " cried the baronne, who 
 by this time was out of her senses. " What should 
 M. de Vaubert be doing in the cemetery? " 
 
 " Madame," replied the old servant, " he is doing 
 35
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 what I was doing just now; he is sleeping there pro- 
 foundly." 
 
 "Dead!" shrieked the baronne. 
 
 " And buried a month ago," pursued the old 
 man quietly. 
 
 At her scream the old fellow looked at the lady 
 attentively, and recognised Mme. de Vaubert. He 
 had formerly been one of the servants in the house; 
 he was now the only survivor. From age and infirm- 
 ity he had become almost imbecile. He related how 
 the baron, at the very moment when he had suc- 
 ceeded in buying back his chateau and two small 
 farms, which composed the whole of his landed prop- 
 erty, had died suddenly, before he had had time to 
 carry out the repairs and embellishments that would 
 have made the manor fit for the reception of Mme. 
 la Baronne and her son. 
 
 Mme. de Vaubert was prostrated; Raoul could 
 not recover from the shock of what he had seen and 
 heard. Exhausted by the fatigues of the journey and 
 the emotions of the return, the young baron fell 
 asleep on a straw chair, and his mother passed the 
 night upon the only clean bed that the house af- 
 forded. 
 
 On leaving her room next morning, Mme. de 
 Vaubert met Raoul, who was roaming with an air of 
 melancholy through the chateau of his ancestors. 
 They looked at one another without uttering a syl- 
 
 36
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 lable. The baronne still cherished some illusions as 
 to the situation; but when the seals had been broken, 
 and the succession liquidated, whether it was that 
 M. de Vaubert had dissipated on the one hand what 
 he had gained on the other, or whether he had de- 
 ceived himself as to the results of his operations, his 
 wife and son were forced to recognise that their in- 
 heritance was in reality limited to the chateau as it 
 is to-day, with two small farms of little value, and 
 a sum of fifty thousand francs, which the baron had 
 deposited with his notary a few days before his death. 
 That was clearly and unmistakably the whole of their 
 fortune. They organized their life without preten- 
 sion, and the existence they led in the castle differed 
 little from that of their days of exile. 
 
 Still other and no less cruel disillusions were in 
 store for Mme. de Vaubert. By slow degrees, as she 
 lived upon this soil that the revolutionary ploughshare 
 had turned upside down and thoroughly disinte- 
 grated; as she watched what was happening in this 
 France, great and prosperous once more, and crowned 
 with glory; as she studied the territorial constitution 
 of the country, and observed the new dispositions of 
 property, already consecrated by long years of enjoy- 
 ment, settled, invulnerable, reposing upon the com- 
 mon rights she realized how void and null were the 
 dreams of the party of the emigration. She felt that 
 even under the most propitious circumstances the 
 
 37
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 restoration of the Bourbons to their kingdom would 
 not of necessity reinstate the Marquis de la Seigliere 
 in his estates. She judged that Napoleon, at the 
 zenith of his power, was less firmly seated on his 
 throne than was the fortune of Maitre Stamply upon 
 his uplands, and that while the one could be driven 
 out at the cannon's mouth, the other could not for 
 that be ousted by the cane. 
 
 Amid these reflections Mme. de Vaubert's enthu- 
 siasm for the marriage of her son with Mile, de la 
 Seigliere cooled perceptibly. At the moment of 
 quitting the marquis and his daughter, she had been 
 overcome by the emotions incident on the parting; 
 at a distance, reason resumed its colder sway. Raoul 
 was handsome, elegant, well-set-up, poor, but of the 
 highest aristocracy, for the De Vauberts were de- 
 scended from the first Christian baron. In this pe- 
 riod of fusion and of rallying, when, to please the 
 head of the state, the parvenus were endeavouring to 
 ennoble their money-bags and to polish their coin 
 by rubbing it against old titles, Raoul might evi- 
 dently make a rich marriage that would enable him 
 to raise the fortunes of his family. 
 
 These ideas developed insensibly, and daily as- 
 sumed a clearer and more definite outline in the mind 
 of the baronne. She was tenderly attached to her 
 son; her love suffered equally with her pride in see- 
 ing the future of this fine youth destined to atrophy 
 
 38
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 and decay in the ennui of poverty. Still young her- 
 self, yet having reached that age at which, in the de- 
 sire for comfort and security, the calculations of ego- 
 ism have already replaced the generous impulses of 
 the heart, it is easy to divine the personal ambitions 
 that were germinating under the indubitably sincere 
 solicitude of the mother for her son. 
 
 Mme. de Vaubert, who at first held herself apart, 
 mixing only with that fraction of the noblesse who 
 obstinately brooded in their corner, was thus think- 
 ing seriously of throwing in her lot with the fortunes 
 of the empire, and of seeking some lucrative mesalli- 
 ance for her son, when the news was suddenly bruited 
 that the Imperial Eagle, struck with a mortal blow 
 upon the fields of Russia, was only holding back the 
 dogs of war in a strained and broken talon. The 
 baronne judged it prudent to wait, and see, before 
 taking any part, from which side the storm that mut- 
 tered at every point of the horizon was first likely 
 to break out. 
 
 It was at this moment, you will remember, that 
 Stamply received the news of the death of his son. 
 The report reached Mme. de Vaubert, who chari- 
 tably decided that it was the justice of Heaven, and 
 thought no more about it. She hated Stamply on 
 her own account and on that of the marquis. She 
 only spoke of him with contempt. The exaggerated 
 accounts she had given of the position of M. de la 
 
 39
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 Seigliere and his daughter had contributed not a 
 little to bring down the curses of the country upon 
 the head of her unfortunate victim. Things were 
 at this pass, when one evening the whole affair as- 
 sumed a different complexion. 
 
 Seated at the open window, Mme. de Vaubert 
 was plunged in deep meditation. Neither the har- 
 mony nor the sights of a fine summer's evening held 
 her thus absorbed and dreaming. She was gazing 
 with sad envy at the Chateau de la Seigliere, where 
 the last rays of the sun were playing on the windows, 
 the mansion shining out in all its glory, with its fes- 
 toons and arabesques, its belfrys and steeples, while 
 the bosky shades of the park waved at its feet in the 
 caressing eddies of the breezes. The same prospect 
 showed the rich farms grouped around the chateau. 
 In the bitterness of her soul she was reflecting that 
 this mansion, park, and lands were the property of 
 a rustic and a clodhopper. 
 
 Raoul surprised her in the midst of these reflec- 
 tions. He sat down near his mother, and, like her, 
 gazed silently, with an air of depression, at the wide 
 landscape framed in the open window. The young 
 man had long been the prey to a sombre melancholy. 
 With no taste for study, which alone could have be- 
 guiled his poverty, he consumed his energies in ster- 
 ile regrets and impotent desires. On this very even- 
 ing, while tramping over his fields alone, he had 
 
 40
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 encountered a joyous band of horsemen returning to 
 the town. The young men were fully equipped for 
 hunting, with trumpeters, hounds, and huntsmen. 
 Raoul had neither hounds, nor whips, nor a thor- 
 oughbred Limousin, on which to air his chagrin. 
 He came home feeling more discouraged and more 
 bored than usual. He leaned over the back of his 
 chair, his forehead in his hands, and Mme. de Vau- 
 bert_saw two great tears course down his emaciated 
 cheeks. 
 
 " My son, my child, my Raoul! " she exclaimed, 
 drawing him to her breast. 
 
 " O mother," cried the young man bitterly, " why 
 did you deceive me? Why did you cradle me in 
 fond and foolish hopes? Why did you nurse me 
 from my infancy in senseless dreams? Why show 
 me from the lap of poverty enchanted shores on 
 which I might never tread? Why did you not bring 
 me up to be content with mediocrity? Why did you 
 not study how to limit my desires and ambitions? 
 Why did you not teach me in early years the hu- 
 mility and resignation that befit our fate? It would 
 have been so easy for you! " 
 
 Mme. de Vaubert only bent her head in reply 
 to these well-deserved reproaches, till her attention 
 was attracted by cries from outside. She got up and 
 went on to the balcony, whence, at the end of the 
 bridge thrown over the Clain, she recognised Stamp- 
 
 4.1
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 ly, pursued by a troop of urchins who were flinging 
 sods at him. The old outlaw was escaping, as fast 
 as his age and iron-bound shoes would let him, with- 
 out attempting to retaliate. Mme. de Vaubert gazed 
 after him for a long time, and then lost herself again 
 in reverie. She emerged from it smiling and radiant. 
 What had passed? What had happened to her? 
 Less than nothing an idea. But an idea may suf- 
 fice to change the face of the world.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 SOME days later Mme. de Vaubert took the arm 
 of her son, and went as far as the right bank of the 
 Clain, on pretext of a ramble. It was the first time 
 since her return that she had ventured to approach 
 this bank. As they passed the gate of the park she 
 stood still for a moment, then, as if yielding to the 
 attractions of old memories, she opened the gate and 
 went in. 
 
 " What are you doing, mother? " cried Raoul, 
 after trying in vain to hold her back at the threshold. 
 " Do you not fear to outrage the marquis and his 
 daughter by setting foot upon this property? Are 
 you not violating both the creed of friendship and 
 the religion of misfortune? While with the feelings 
 of hatred and contempt that we all profess against 
 the owner of this place, is it seemly that we should be 
 here? " 
 
 " Come, come, my son. We are not outraging 
 the marquis by seeking the memories of him that 
 survive beneath these trees. In what you take for an 
 insult to misfortune M. de la Seigliere himself would 
 only see a pious pilgrimage. Come," she repeated, 
 
 43
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 with a gentle pressure of Raoul's arm; " we need not 
 be afraid of any irritating encounter. At this hour 
 I see M. Stamply go by every day to visit his estate. 
 Besides, I must confess to you, my son, that I have 
 somewhat got over my prejudices, and that this man 
 really does not seem to me to deserve either the 
 hatred or the contempt which the country has 
 heaped upon him. Indeed, I think that there if 
 something touching about this destiny, unhappy anc 
 proscribed in the midst of prosperity, which inter- 
 ests me in spite of myself." 
 
 " How, mother? " cried the young man. " A 
 farmer who has dispossessed his seigneurs! a servant 
 who has enriched himself with the spoil of his mas- 
 ters! a wretch " 
 
 " Wretched indeed ; you use the right word, 
 Raoul," replied Mme. de Vaubert, interrupting him. 
 " So wretched that I repent me now of having joined 
 my voice to those of his accusers. Heaven has 
 treated this unfortunate man with severity enough 
 to admit of our showing him a little indulgence. But 
 let him be, my son; we are not concerned with him. 
 See," she added, drawing him into an alley that fol- 
 lowed the course of the stream, " at every step I find 
 some image of my best years. The spirit of Mme. de 
 la Seigliere seems to breathe from every flower." 
 
 Talking thus, they walked slowly on, when a turn 
 of the path brought them almost face to face with 
 
 44
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 Stamply, who was taking a solitary walk in his park. 
 Raoul attempted to retreat, but the baronne pre- 
 vented him, and advanced to meet the worthy man, 
 who, at a loss to account for the honour of such a 
 meeting, saluted them profoundly. 
 
 " Sir," said the lady graciously, " forgive the lib- 
 erty that I have taken of trespassing thus upon your 
 property. This delicious shade recalls such happy 
 memories that I could no longer resist the tempta- 
 tion to revisit it." 
 
 " I would sooner thank you than forgive you, 
 madame," replied old Stamply, who had immediately 
 recognised Mme. de Vaubert. " It is the greatest 
 honour, the only honour," he added sadly, " that has 
 been shown this place since I have lived here." 
 
 Then, as if he understood that the honour was 
 not designed for him, whether from discretion or 
 from humility, the old man made as if he would 
 retire, after inviting his guests to pursue their walk, 
 but Mme. de Vaubert called to him kindly: 
 
 " Why leave us in such haste, sir? You must wish 
 to make us feel that our visit is indiscreet, and that 
 we are disturbing your solitude. Pray stay if this 
 be not the case; with us you will not make one too 
 many." 
 
 Confused by so much attention, Stamply did not 
 know how to express his gratitude, and only suc- 
 ceeded in exhibiting stupefaction. For the first time 
 
 45
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 he not only found himself receiving guests of this im- 
 portance, but actually heard himself addressed in po- 
 lite and friendly language. And it was Mme. de 
 Vaubert, the Baronne de Vaubert, the greatest lady 
 in the country, the friend of the La Seiglieres, who 
 deigned to treat him thus him, Stamply, the old 
 rogue, as he knew too well that they called him in 
 the country! His feelings may be imagined when 
 he felt the hand of Mme. la Baronne upon his arm, 
 while she said to him with a gentle smile and a tone 
 almost of familiarity: 
 
 " Come, M. Stamply, be my guide and escort." 
 The poor reprobates who are boycotted by cal- 
 umny alone know the entire value of an unexpected 
 sign of sympathy and kindness. However slight it 
 be, they seize upon it with a sense of unspeakable 
 gratitude; it is the blade of grass thrown by the dove 
 to the drowning ant. When Stamply felt the arm of 
 the Baronne de Vaubert within his own he was de- 
 voured with a joy akin to that felt by the leper of 
 Aosta when his hand was grasped by a friendly hand. 
 The occasion would have been perfect if the good 
 man had been less embarrassed by his costume and 
 his deportment. His person, indeed, contrasted 
 strangely with that of Mme. de Vaubert, who, in her 
 penury, humiliated the opulence of her neighbour by 
 the elegance of her dress and the grace of her man- 
 ners.
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 " If I could have imagined that so great an hon- 
 our was preparing for me I should have paid some 
 little attention to my toilet this morning," he re- 
 marked, gazing sadly at his rough shoes, with red 
 copper buckles, his blue woollen stockings, his fus- 
 tian waistcoat, and his threadbare velveteen breeches. 
 
 " But why? " cried the baronne. " You are quite 
 well dressed. Besides, sir, you are at home here." 
 
 These words, " You are at home," went to Stam- 
 ply's heart, and filled him with a gentle sense of sat- 
 isfaction. " You are at home " simple words that 
 for a long time past he had hardly dared to say to 
 himself, so cruelly wounded was he in his self-es- 
 teem by his consciousness of the public contempt. 
 Were not these words, as pronounced by Mme. de 
 Vaubert, a formal disclaimer of the detrimental com- 
 ments of the slanderers? Were they not for this 
 man a startling rehabilitation, a solemn consecra- 
 tion of his rights and his fortune? In the meantime 
 young De Vaubert, whose surprise was at least equal 
 to that of Stamply, remained beside his mother, cold, 
 silent, and haughty, not knowing what to conclude 
 or to imagine from the strange scene that was tak- 
 ing place under his eyes. 
 
 As they talked and walked, they arrived by in- 
 sensible detours before the fagade of the mansion. The 
 day was burning, the sky overcast with clouds. For 
 nearly an hour Mme. de Vaubert had been walking 
 
 47
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 under the sultry shades, unrefreshed by any breeze. 
 She sat down on the steps in front of the house, and 
 passed her handkerchief over her face and forehead, 
 while Stamply stood in front of her without moving, 
 save that his fingers twisted at the large brim of the 
 felt hat which he had persistently held in his hand 
 throughout the walk. 
 
 At length he said, with an air of entreaty: " Ma- 
 dame would crown her favours if she deigned to rest 
 a moment inside my house. I should be the more 
 touched by such a great favour, since I recognise 
 how little I am worthy of it." 
 
 " Mother," interrupted Raoul, who wanted to 
 be quit of this comedy, of which he saw neither the 
 conclusion nor the significance, " a great storm is 
 coming up; we shall scarcely have time to get home 
 now before it breaks." 
 
 " Well, my son, we will let the storm go by," re- 
 plied Mme. de Vaubert, rising. " Since our kind 
 neighbour offers us such cordial hospitality, let us 
 go and wait under his roof until the elements permit 
 us to regain our own." 
 
 On hearing these words Stamply's face fairly 
 shone, and his mouth expanded in a smile of beati- 
 tude. What a triumph, indeed, for him to receive 
 Mme. de Vaubert, and thus prove to his household, 
 who would inevitably inform the country-side, that 
 he was thought better of than mischief-makers 
 
 48
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 elected to say and fools to believe! Leicester re- 
 ceiving Queen Elizabeth in the castle of Kenilworth 
 was not happier or more proud than Maitre Stam- 
 ply at this moment, when he saw the baronne mount 
 the flight of steps, and cross the threshold of his 
 door. 
 
 Raoul followed his mother with a gesture of dis- 
 pleasure that she affected not to see, and that passed 
 unnoticed by Stamply, absorbed as he was in his joy 
 and happiness. When, after introducing his guests 
 into the salon, the good man escaped to give per- 
 sonal supervision to the hospitality incumbent on 
 him, Raoul, left alone with his mother, was at last 
 going to demand the explanation of an enigma 
 which he had vainly endeavoured to decipher for an 
 hour past, when he was checked by an impulse of 
 curiosity that closed his lips and made his eyes open 
 widely. 
 
 Though nothing in the arrangement of the rooms 
 was changed, the interior of the Chateau de la Sei- 
 gliere no longer corresponded with the magnificence 
 of its outside aspect. Everything spoke of negli- 
 gence, and of the less than aristocratic and hardly 
 even bourgeois habits of the new proprietor. Besides 
 this, the twenty years that had elapsed had not 
 tended to rejuvenate the freshness of the hangings. 
 These faded fabrics and blackened gildings, the lux- 
 ury without youth vestiges of a splendour wherein 
 
 49
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 life was no longer expressed made up an interior 
 as little cheerful as can be imagined. It was as fine 
 and as sad as those vast halls in the palace of Ver- 
 sailles that one admires in passing through them, 
 but where one would die oi ennui if forced to in- 
 habit them. The salon into which Mme. de Vaubert 
 and her son had been introduced alone preserved, by 
 special favour, its freshness and brilliance, its youth 
 and vitality. You would have said that Mme. de la 
 Seigliere still animated it with her grace and beauty. 
 Bernard, during his life, had taken pleasure in adorn- 
 ing it, and had embellished it with all the treasures 
 that the marquis had been unable to carry into exile 
 with him, and Stamply, after the departure, and even 
 after the death of his son, had desired out of respect 
 to his memory that this apartment should be kept up 
 with the same care as in the past, as if Bernard 
 were expected to return at any moment. According- 
 ly, everything here breathed the splendour of former 
 days. Damask from Genoa, tapestries of Beauvais 
 work, Boule furniture laden with artistic objects, 
 sparkling crystals, groups in porcelain, Dresden and 
 Sevres china, gilded fillets, reaching to the ceiling, 
 pastorals by Watteau above the doors there was 
 enough to provide twenty pages of description to 
 some of those pretty wits who have created the 
 poetry of the inventory, and shown themselves less 
 occupied with the furnishing of the soul than with 
 
 50
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 that of the mansion. After examining it all with 
 jealous attention, after recognising and touching for 
 himself all that he had till now seen only in his illu- 
 sive fancies, Raoul approached the window, and be- 
 took himself to gazing gloomily at the ruined Castel 
 de Vaubert, which had never seemed to him so poor 
 and so forsaken as in this hour. Meantime the 
 baronne contemplated her son with satisfaction, se- 
 rene and smiling, as though she held in her grasp 
 the magic wand by which the towers of her chateau 
 were to be rebuilt and the fortune of his ancestors 
 given back to Raoul. 
 
 Stamply was not long in returning, followed by 
 two gaping lads from the farm, who were laden with 
 trays of sirups, cream, strawberries, and Spanish 
 wines. The entire staff of servants, consisting of a 
 cook, a gardener, and a wench who minded the tur- 
 keys, pressed into the antechamber, endeavouring 
 to catch a glimpse of Mme. la Baronne and her son 
 through the half-opened door. It was the first time 
 since the arrival of Stamply that there had been such 
 a fete at the chateau. 
 
 " This is extremely tempting," said Mme. de 
 Vaubert, with her sweetest smile. " You have pre- 
 pared a royal reception for us, sir." 
 
 Stamply bowed, got very confused, and stam- 
 mered. Then, observing that the two farm hands, 
 after setting down the trays upon a marble console, 
 
 51
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 had seated themselves in arm-chairs, and were pea- 
 cocking there quite unconcernedly, he took them by 
 the shoulders, and pushed them both out of the 
 room. 
 
 " Why, sir," cried the baronne, who could not 
 help laughing at this little episode, " do you know 
 that you deserve to be appointed keeper-general of 
 the French castles? This one has lost nothing of its 
 ancient splendour; indeed, I think that you have 
 added new magnificence to it. And, for the rest, it 
 is said that the La Seigliere estates have doubled 
 their value under your administration. According 
 to that, you must be the richest proprietor in the 
 country." 
 
 "Alas, Mme. la Baronne!" replied the old man 
 sadly, " God and man have made me pay dear 
 enough for this property that people envy me! God 
 has taken away my wife and child; man has heaped 
 outrages upon me. The ancient Job was less un- 
 happy upon his dunghill than I in the midst of 
 riches. You have a son, madame; gauge your con- 
 tent and you will appreciate my misfortunes." 
 
 " I do appreciate them, sir. They tell me that 
 your son was a hero." 
 
 "Ah, madame, he was my all!" cried the old 
 man, choking back his tears. 
 
 " The counsels of God are impenetrable," said 
 Mme. de Vaubert sadly. " As regards the judgment 
 
 52
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 of men, I think, sir, that you would be wrong to let 
 yourself be distracted by it. You say that you have 
 been charged with committing outrages? It is news 
 to me; you are the first to tell it me. What does the 
 opinion of fools matter? You have the esteem of 
 honest people." 
 
 At these words Stamply shook his head sorrow- 
 fully, in token of dissent. 
 
 " You slander yourself, sir," continued Mme. de 
 Vaubert warmly. " Do you think, for instance, that 
 I should be here if I did not hold you in esteem? It 
 seems to me that I am sufficiently interested in the 
 question to escape the charge of partiality in your 
 favour. As the friend of the La Seiglieres, I shared 
 their exile for fifteen years. Like them, I have seen 
 my goods sequestered and sold by the Republic. The 
 Republic has despoiled us; she has disposed of that 
 which did not belong to her let it be to her eternal 
 shame! But for you, a purchaser in all good faith, 
 who have bought with your own money, who blames 
 you? By whom are you accused? Adversity may 
 embitter us; it has not stifled the instincts of justice 
 in our breasts. It is not you we hate. How often 
 have I not heard the Marquis and Mme. de la Sei- 
 gliere congratulating themselves on the fact that 
 their estates had at any rate fallen to the most 
 honest of their farmers." 
 
 " Can this be true, madame? " exclaimed Stam- 
 53
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 ply, with a gesture of surprise and joy. " Did M. le 
 Marquis and Mme. la Marquise really speak of me 
 without anger? I should have expected to be noth- 
 ing but an object of contempt and execration to 
 them." 
 
 " But why? " replied the baronne, smiling. " I 
 recollect how, some few days before her death, 
 the poor marquise happened to be saying to 
 me " 
 
 " Mme. la Marquise is dead! " cried Stamply in 
 painful surprise. 
 
 " She died in giving birth to a daughter, as beau- 
 tiful to-day as was her mother. Well, as I was say- 
 ing, sir," continued Mme. de Vaubert, " some days 
 before her death the marquise was talking of you, 
 and of Mme. Stamply, whom she loved and appre- 
 ciated. She was speaking of her with that touching 
 kindness that you will not have forgotten. The mar- 
 quis joined in the conversation, and took pleasure in 
 citing various traits of the devotion and fidelity 
 which do honour to your family. ' They are worthy 
 people,' added Mme. de la Seigliere; 'amid our mis- 
 fortunes it is almost a consolation to think that the 
 spoils of our fortune have fallen into such clean and 
 honest hands.' ' 
 
 " Mother," interrupted Raoul, who was standing 
 in the window, and was visibly distressed at hearing 
 his mother talk in this way, " a gust of wind has 
 
 54
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 dispersed the storm; the sky is clear; wa can return 
 to our own roof without danger." 
 
 The baronne rose and said, turning to Stamply, 
 " I must thank you, sir, for your kind hospitality, 
 and congratulate myself on the chance that has pro- 
 cured me the advantage of knowing you. I sincerely 
 trust that our relations may not be confined to this 
 first interview. The fulfilment of these wishes must 
 depend upon you. Do not forget; remind yourself 
 often that you have neighbours upon the opposite 
 bank who will always esteem themselves fortunate 
 in receiving you." 
 
 With these words, pronounced with a grace that 
 enhanced their significance to a point beyond ex- 
 pression, Mme. de Vaubert retired, leaning on her 
 son's arm, and escorted back by Stamply, who only 
 parted from his guests at the gate of the park, after 
 profound salutations. 
 
 " And now, mother," cried the young man, when 
 they found themselves alone, " are you going to give 
 me the key to all that I have been seeing and hear- 
 ing? Only yesterday you despised and hated this 
 man; until to-day you have only spoken of him in 
 terms of contempt. What strange revolution has 
 operated suddenly in your ideas and sentiments? " 
 
 " Mon Dien! Nothing is more simple, and I 
 thought I had explained it to you already, my son," 
 returned the baronne placidly. " Unlike that citizen 
 
 4-Vol. 7 55
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 of Athens who condemned Aristides to ostracism 
 because he was weary of hearing him called ' The 
 Just/ from hearing so much harm of M. Stamply I 
 have come round to think well of him. If legitimate 
 prejudices, along with my old friendship for the La 
 Seiglieres, and the ignorance of facts in which I have 
 lived for nearly twenty years, have led me into ill- 
 considered measures, I have for some time felt re- 
 morseful; I regret it at this moment." 
 
 " But, mother," resumed Raoul, " granting that 
 you were entitled to make appeal from your own 
 judgments, and to quash the edicts you yourself put 
 forth, you were not commissioned by the La Sei- 
 glieres to absolve the holder of their lands in their 
 name. Do you think the marquis would exonerate 
 you for making him, in this instance, the partner in 
 your indulgence? " 
 
 " Well, my son," cried the baronne with a ges- 
 ture of impatience, " was one to give the last slap 
 to this poor heart that is so cruelly wounded al- 
 ready? Was I to enter that hospitable roof only to 
 make myself the echo of the maledictions of exile? 
 Am I guilty, am I criminal, for having tried to pour 
 some drops of balm upon the wounds of that unfor- 
 tunate man? Ah, youth is pitiless! I do not know 
 if the marquis would pardon me, but I am sure the 
 soul of the marquise smiles at me, and approves my 
 deed from heaven." 
 
 56
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 Stamply's visit was not long delayed. He pre- 
 sented himself, one afternoon, at the Chateau de 
 Vaubert, in the most gallant costume he could select 
 out of his rustic wardrobe. Raoul was absent. Not 
 being hampered by the presence of her son, the ba- 
 ronne received her neighbour with all sorts of airs 
 and graces. She led him on gently to talk of his 
 son, and appeared interested in all he had to say. 
 You can picture the satisfaction it was to this poor 
 old man to meet with a kindly heart to whom he 
 could freely pour out his woes. Finally, however, he 
 began to notice the modest appointments of the 
 salon in which he had been received. In thinking of 
 what had formerly been and what now was the posi- 
 tion of the De Vauberts and the Stamplys, he was 
 seized with a vague sense of bashfulness and con- 
 fusion, that the fastidious will readily understand. 
 As if to increase the embarrassment of her guest, 
 Mme. de Vaubert related the disillusions of her re- 
 turn, and how, in place of her manor and estates, she 
 had found only a pigeon-cote and some few wretched 
 parcels of land. But she did it with so much grace 
 and gaiety that Stamply, susceptible and defiant as 
 he was, could not take umbrage, and, on the con- 
 trary, felt himself relieved from a great weight on 
 seeing the way in which Mme. de Vaubert accom- 
 modated herself to her fortunes. 
 
 " You must stay and dine with me," she said to 
 
 57
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 him; " my son has gone to spend the day with one 
 of our friends, and will not be home till the evening. 
 You will keep me company. Solitude at our age is 
 sad. What can one expect?" she added gaily, tak- 
 ing up the thread of the interrupted conversation; 
 " ' every dog has his day,' as the proverb says. They 
 tell one that revolutions have their good side; we 
 must believe it to our cost. We do not complain. 
 Had it only been God's will, as my poor, beloved 
 marquise said so often, had it but pleased God that 
 all who profited by our disasters had been as honest 
 as yourselves, resignation would have been still 
 easier for us! " 
 
 This tete-d-tete dinner with the Baronne de Vau- 
 bert was not merely the crowning honour for Stam- 
 ply, but it was also the sweetest pleasure he had 
 tasted for a long time. It is more particularly during 
 meals that isolation is so cruelly felt. That was the 
 time of the day that Stamply dreaded most. When 
 he took his seat at table opposite Bernard's empty 
 place his sadness was redoubled, and often, like the 
 King of Thule, he drank his tears in his cup. To him 
 this was an improvised banquet. The feast was not 
 sumptuous; but Mme. de Vaubert supplemented the 
 deficiencies of the table by the charm of her wit. 
 She surrounded her guest by a thousand delicate 
 little attentions, flattered him, made much of him, 
 spoiled him like a child, without appearing to notice
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 the gaucheries and offences that he committed in 
 matters of etiquette and of good-breeding. At one 
 moment the good man turned to her with a look 
 that cannot be expressed in words. You must think 
 of the gentle, tender, grateful eyes that the hound 
 turns upon the master who is fondling him. The 
 worthy man was almost able to believe that he was 
 no longer alone in the world, and that he had a 
 family. 
 
 From that day the visits between the two man- 
 sions became frequent. Mme. de Vaubert, by her 
 entreaties and remonstrances, induced her son, little 
 by little, to tolerate the presence of Stamply, and 
 to receive him, if not cordially, at any rate with- 
 out too much disdain and hauteur. At the same 
 time, with the view of flattering them, she made a 
 study of the tastes and fancies of the old man. She 
 even managed to initiate herself into the petty de- 
 tails of his household, and watched with quite ma- 
 ternal solicitude to see that nothing was wanting for 
 his comfort. Stamply offered no resistance to her 
 wiles; he was caught in them like a fly in honey. 
 He passed rapidly from gratitude to affection, from 
 affection to habit. The best part of his days was 
 spent at Vaubert. He dined there three days a 
 week. In the morning he stopped there on the way 
 to his fields; he returned in the evening to talk of 
 Bernard, and of the politics of the day, with which 
 
 59
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 every one was greatly preoccupied. On fine even- 
 ings Mme. de Vaubert took his arm, and they walked 
 together on the banks of the Clain. 
 
 You may imagine the intoxication of old Stam- 
 ply when, with the arm of a baronne within his own, 
 and conversing familiarly with her, he shared in the 
 salutations she received, on the very banks where 
 he had formerly been greeted with showers of stones. 
 And some echo of the consideration by which the 
 noble lady was surrounded had actually been re- 
 flected on him. If his servants did not steal from 
 him the less, they respected him more. In short, one 
 would have to revive the worn-out comparison of the 
 oasis in the desert, to paint in a few words what the 
 enchanted apparition of the Baronne de Vaubert 
 came to be in the desolate life of this man. His 
 autumnal days were warmed as if by a gentle glow. 
 His health improved, his mood grew gayer; his char- 
 acter, embittered by sorrow, recovered its native 
 goodness. He was enjoying, as one would say, his 
 St. Martin's summer; but the greatest benefit he ob- 
 tained from the connection was the recovery of hi3 
 self-esteem, his rehabilitation in his own eyes. His 
 troubled conscience was at rest; strong in this lovely 
 friendship, he raised his head and bore his fortune 
 gaily. 
 
 To these salutary influences Mme. de Vaubert 
 soon mingled others, slower and more mysterious, to 
 
 60
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 which Stamply yielded without attempting to take 
 account of them. After possessing herself of the life 
 of this man, she took possession of his mind, and 
 kneaded it to her will, and fashioned it like a block 
 of wax. She made a study of him, and resolved to 
 wipe out the last trace of his revolutionary ideas. 
 By force of subtlety she succeeded in reconciling him 
 with the past, which had oppressed him, and made 
 him break with the principles which had freed him. 
 She took him back, unknown to himself, to the point 
 from which he had started, and made him unsuspect- 
 ingly resume the carapace of serf and vassal beneath 
 which his fathers had existed. Meantime the names 
 of the Marquis de la Seigliere and of his daughter 
 came up in every conversation, but with so much 
 reserve that Stamply did not even think of taking 
 umbrage. Without effort he was brought to the 
 point of being touched by the fate of this young 
 Helene, whom Mme. de Vaubert was never weary of 
 representing to him as the living image of her 
 mother. She had the same grace, the same charm, 
 the same goodness. Stamply owned that at this rate 
 Mile, de la Seigliere must indeed be an angel. He 
 kept a few prejudices against the marquis. Mme. de 
 Vaubert set patiently to work to stifle this old leaven 
 of '93. Adversity, said she, is a rude school in which 
 lessons are quickly learned. For her part, she flat- 
 tered 'herself that she had learned much, and forgot- 
 
 61
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 ten much in it. M. de la Seigliere, by her account, 
 had become in exile the perfect model of all the vir- 
 tues. This proudest of marquises, would now esteem 
 it an honour to shake the hand of his former farmer, 
 and to call him friend. Stamply replied that in the 
 event of such a contingency he would deem it a very 
 great honour. 
 
 Months passed thus in a peaceful intimacy that 
 was unshared by Raoul; the young man was sad, and 
 desired solitude. Meantime, while these events were 
 being silently accomplished in the valley of the Clain, 
 the grand epopee of the empire had just closed with 
 Waterloo. Time pressed. In a recent letter the 
 Marquis de la Seigliere, more than ever convinced 
 that the fall of Napoleon must necessarily entail that 
 of Stamply, and that the first act of the Bourbons, 
 after their definite return to France, would be to 
 reinstate all the emigres in the possession of their 
 estates, was generous enough to remind his old friend 
 of the promise they had exchanged, of one day unit- 
 ing Helene and Raoul. Mme. de Vaubert judged 
 it prudent to push on to the end of the little comedy, 
 of which she alone had the secret. 
 
 Her relations with the farmer chatelain were, as 
 may be imagined, a subject of great amazement to 
 the country. Slander and calumny had not failed to 
 rally. Astonishment and indignation were expressed 
 at the sight of a friend of the La Seiglieres in com- 
 
 62
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 i 
 
 merce with the man who had displaced them. The 
 report that she aimed at marrying Stamply was 
 bruited. The aristocracy exclaimed r.t the treason, 
 the plebeians at the scandal. Whether she ignored 
 the current talk or whether she despised it, the ba- 
 ronne had till now pursued her notion, without even 
 turning her head to listen to the crowd, when of a 
 sudden Stamply thought he perceived symptoms of 
 cooling off in the evidences of the friendship that had 
 made him so proud and happy. At first he only 
 felt a dim uneasiness, of which he gave himself no 
 account, but as these symptoms became more de- 
 cided in character from day to day he began to be 
 seriously alarmed. And, in fact, Mme. de Vaubert 
 was no longer the same; although she tried to dis- 
 simulate the change that had taken place in her, the 
 tender and susceptible heart of poor Stamply was not 
 to be deceived. He endured it a long while in si- 
 lence, and what he suffered cannot be described, for 
 he had directed all his affections to this outlet; he 
 had put his whole heart and life into this attachment. 
 For a long time his mouth was closed by respect; but 
 on a certain evening, when he found Mme. de Vau- 
 bert more absent, more reserved, and more con- 
 strained than usual, he expressed his uneasiness in a 
 manner that may have been indiscreet, but was cer- 
 tainly touching. Mme. de Vaubert seemed moved 
 by it, but remained impenetrable. 
 
 63
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 " Madame, what has happened? I anticipate 
 some great misfortune." 
 
 Mme. de Vaubert made scarcely any reply; only 
 when he was about to leave, she took his hands, and 
 pressed them in her own, with an effusion of tender- 
 ness that only added to the old man's fears. 
 
 Next day Stamply was walking in his park, still 
 greatly agitated by the events of the previous even- 
 ing, when a note was brought him from Mme. de 
 Vaubert. Less flattered than alarmed by such a rare 
 honour, he broke the seal with a trembling hand, 
 and read what follows through his tears: 
 
 " You anticipated a great misfortune ; your pre- 
 sentiments were just. If you are to suffer from it as 
 much as I do myself it is indeed a great misfortune. 
 We must not meet again; this is imposed on us by 
 the world. If only I were involved, I would brave 
 its judgments with impunity; but for my son's sake 
 I am bound to impose sacrifices upon myself that I 
 would never have conceded to opinion. Try to con- 
 ceive the necessity by which we are separated, and 
 let it be a consolation to you to think that your 
 heart is not more profoundly afflicted than is that 
 of your affectionate 
 
 " BARONNE DE VAUBERT." 
 
 At first Stamply understood one thing only that 
 he had lost the sole happiness he possessed in the 
 
 64
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 world. Then, on reading the letter a second time, he 
 felt that all the maledictions and all the outrages 
 from which he had been so long relieved by the 
 friendship of Mme. de Vaubert were falling back 
 upon his head. He saw himself plunged deeper than 
 ever into the gulf of solitude; he felt as if he were 
 losing Bernard a second time. It was more than an 
 affection that was breaking for him; it was a habit. 
 What would he do henceforth with his unoccupied 
 days, with his idle evenings? Whither should be be- 
 take his heart and steps? They would be aimless; 
 everywhere around him would be solitude, silence, a 
 wilderness of desolation. In his despair he set out 
 for Vaubert. 
 
 " Madame," he cried, entering the salon where 
 
 the baronne was sitting alone, " madame, what have 
 
 \ 
 
 I done? How have I forfeited your esteem? Why 
 did you offer me your hand if you were going to 
 take it back again? Why did you summon me if you 
 intended to shut me out so pitilessly? Why free me 
 from my worries if you meant to fling me back on 
 them so soon? Look at me: I am old, and my days 
 are numbered. Could you not have waited a little 
 longer? I have only a short time to live." 
 
 Mme. de Vaubert at first applied herself to sooth- 
 ing him with protestations of her affection, while 
 she addressed him in tender words. When she saw 
 that he was calmer she attempted to make him un- 
 
 65
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 derstand the imperious motives to which she had 
 been forced to yield. She appeared to perform this 
 task with an extreme reserve, an exquisite delicacy; 
 but in reality every word she uttered entered like the 
 blade of a dagger into Stamply's heart. Some ves- 
 tiges of pride sustained and reanimated him. 
 
 " You are right, madame," he said, rising. " It 
 is I who am a senseless fool. I will go, without com- 
 plaint or murmur. Only I would have you recollect, 
 madame, that I should never have dared to solicit the 
 honour you offered me; recollect also that I did 
 not deceive you, and that in our very first inter- 
 view I myself informed you of the outrages and cal- 
 umnies that the world had heaped upon my head." 
 
 With these words he walked resolutely towards 
 the door; but, exhausted by the effort he had made 
 to preserve his dignity, he collapsed into an arm- 
 chair, and gave free vent to his grief. 
 
 In the presence of such real sorrow Mme. de 
 Vaubert herself felt a genuine emotion. 
 
 " My friend," she said, '" listen to me. You may 
 imagine that I have not resigned myself without an 
 effort to the rupture of a connection in which I 
 found as much satisfaction as yourself. I had be- 
 come tenderly attached to you; I took pleasure in 
 the notion that I counted perhaps for something 
 good and consoling in your life. On your side you 
 helped me to endure the weight of a very sad exist- 
 
 66
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 ence. Your goodness charmed me; your presence 
 was a distraction in my worries. I leave you to 
 judge whether I decided willingly to lacerate your 
 heart and my own. I hesitated for a long while; at 
 last, out of consideration for my son, I believed my- 
 self forced to give satisfaction to this foolish and 
 naughty world, to which, had the matter concerned 
 myself alone, I should not have sacrificed a hair of 
 your head. I was forced to do it; I have done it. 
 And yet," she added, after some instants of silent 
 reflection, glancing suddenly at Stamply with a look 
 that made him tremble, " if there should be some 
 way of conciliating the exigencies of my position and 
 the care of your happiness if there should be a 
 means of imposing silence on the clamours of the 
 crowd, and of assuring your old age of happy days 
 of peace and honour? " 
 
 " Oh, speak, speak, madame; what is this way?" 
 cried the old man with the joy of the shipwrecked 
 mariner who thinks he sees a white sail on the 
 horizon. 
 
 " My friend," returned Mme. de Vaubert, " I have 
 duly reflected on your destiny. After considering it 
 in all its several phases and aspects, I am obliged 
 to recognise that there is no one less to be envied, and 
 that you are, to say the truth, the most unfortunate 
 of mortals. You are right ; the ancient Job upon his 
 dunghill was less to be pitied than are you in the 
 
 67
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 lap of prosperity. Rich, you have no employment 
 for your riches. Other men have erected between 
 themselves and you a wall of opprobrium and of 
 ignominy. Till now, outrage, abuse, and public con- 
 tempt have been the most obvious of your revenues. 
 You only held on to social life by a single tie; this 
 tie broken, you have not one soul with whom to shel- 
 ter. I foresee your old age given over to mercenary 
 cares. You will not even, at the last hour, have the 
 consolation of bequeathing this fortune, which has 
 cost you so dear, to some one you love; one heir 
 alone remains to you, the state, of all inheritors the 
 least interesting and the most ungrateful. The ques- 
 tion is, whether it would be more agreeable to you 
 to have a family who would cherish you as a father, 
 to grow old surrounded by love and tenderness, to 
 hear round you only a chorus of benedictions, to 
 let your dying eyes rest upon those whom you have 
 made happy, so that you leave behind you nothing 
 but a cherished and venerated memory." 
 
 "A family me!" cried the old man in a dis- 
 tracted voice. " Me, Stamply, the old rogue, as they 
 call me, surrounded by tenderness and love, by 
 unanimous blessings! my memory cherished and 
 venerated! Alas! madame, where is this family? My 
 wife and my child are in heaven, and I am all alone 
 down here." 
 
 " Ungrateful man," replied Mme. de Vaubert, 
 68
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 smiling, " half this family is already within your 
 grasp." 
 
 With a little subtlety or vanity Stamply might 
 have believed that Mme. de Vaubert was courting 
 the opportunity of a mesalliance with him, but the 
 worthy man was neither subtle nor vain, and despite 
 the intimacy of his relations with the baronne, he 
 had never forgotten the distance that still separated 
 the parvenu peasant from the impoverished aristo- 
 crat. Hence he remained on tenter-hooks, with 
 gaping mouth, hesitating, confused, not knowing 
 what interpretation to put on the words he had just 
 heard. 
 
 " Has it ever occurred to you, my friend," re- 
 sumed Mme. de Vaubert, calmly, " to ask yourself 
 what Napoleon's glory would have been, if, compre- 
 hending his divine mission, this soldier of fortune 
 had, after crushing the factions, replaced the Bour- 
 bons upon the throne of their ancestors? Let us 
 suppose for an instant that instead of dreaming that 
 he was to found a dynasty, this Corsican, who to-day 
 is proscribed and miserable, heaped with opprobrium, 
 tracked and muzzled like a wild beast, had placed 
 his sword and his ambitions at the service of our 
 legitimate princes? What destiny would not have 
 paled before the destiny of this man! The world, 
 which curses him, would have contemplated him with 
 admiration; the kings who swore his downfall would 
 
 69
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 have disputed the honour of giving him their hand; 
 and, Emperor indeed from the day he ceased to reign, 
 the aureole he wore upon his forehead would have 
 humiliated the splendour of the diadem." 
 
 "And my little Bernard would still be alive," 
 added Stamply with a sigh. 
 
 " My friend," cried Mme. de Vaubert, " by what 
 strange oversight, by what fatal enchantment, did 
 we not both understand that Providence had placed 
 in your hands a very similar destiny, and that it de- 
 pended on you to realize this beautiful dream? " 
 
 At these words Stamply pricked up his ears like 
 a hare that hears the heather rustling round it. 
 
 " Ah, for you, at any rate, there is still time," 
 pursued the baronne with enthusiasm. " What that 
 man failed to do you may accomplish in the less ex- 
 alted sphere in which Providence has placed you. 
 Consult your heart, probe your conscience; your 
 heart is good, your conscience intact. Men, how- 
 ever, judge you otherwise; and for yourself, irre- 
 proachable as you are, does it never happen to you 
 to feel disquieted and ill at ease, when you remember 
 that the last scion of a family that heaped benefits 
 upon your own is languishing, disinherited, upon 
 stranger soil? Well, then, in a single word you can 
 legitimize your fortune, confound envy, disarm opin- 
 ion, changing to applause the outrages which are 
 heaped on you, restore yourself to your own self- 
 
 70
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 esteem, and give the world one of those great ex- 
 amples which from time to time have elevated 
 humanity." 
 
 " The old rogue does not set his ambitions so 
 high, madame," replied Stamply, shaking his head. 
 " He has no pretension to set an example to the 
 world; he does not claim the task of elevating hu- 
 manity; he attends to more humble tasks. Besides 
 which, madame, I do not understand very clearly." 
 
 " If you do not understand, there is no more to be 
 said," replied Mme. de Vaubert coldly. 
 
 Stamply had understood too well. Though farm- 
 er by birth and peasant by origin, he was, as we 
 have said, neither shrewd nor subtle, nor even very 
 far-sighted; but he was of a suspicious nature, and 
 mistrust, in case of need, took the place of artifice. 
 Not only did he understand what the baronne was 
 driving at, but he also believed this to be the clew 
 to the advances made him. 
 
 " I understand you, Mme. la Baronne," he said at 
 last, with that profound feeling of sadness experi- 
 enced by sensitive minds when, on gauging the affec- 
 tion they believed sincere and disinterested, they dis- 
 cover beneath the upper surface a bottomless gulf 
 of egoism, " only I think you are making a mistake. 
 I have no need to legitimize my fortune, seeing that 
 my fortune is legitimate. I owe it to my labours 
 alone. As to Mile, de la Seigliere, it is quite true
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 that I never think without emotion of this child, 
 who, you tell me, is the living image of her mother. 
 I have often been tempted to send her some assist- 
 ance; I have wished to, I have not dared." 
 
 ' You would be wrong to forget her; there are 
 misfortunes that can accept no help other than the 
 prayers and sympathy offered up for them," replied 
 Mme. de Vaubert with dignity; "but allow me to 
 tell you," she added in a more affectionate tone, 
 " that you have misunderstood; I was thinking only 
 of your happiness. I was arguing, not from your 
 duties, but simply for your convenience. What have 
 I said that has wounded or offended you? Chance 
 has thrown us together. I am interested in your 
 fate. I feel that I am a consolation to you; I like 
 you the better for it. And yet it happens one fine 
 day that we are separated by an envious and jealous 
 world. My heart is wrung by this; you are alarmed 
 at it. In this contingency I suggest, foolishly per- 
 haps, that in recalling the Marquis de la Seigliere 
 and his daughter, by offering to partake with them 
 a fortune you don't want, you would secure for your 
 old age rest, and peace, and honour. Thereupon, 
 my imagination becomes excited. I see you sur- 
 rounded with affection and homage; instead of 
 breaking, our intimacy is assured; the people who 
 proscribe you will seek you out; the voices that curse 
 you will bless; God has taken away the son whom 
 
 72
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 you adored, he gives you back an adorable daughter. 
 This picture moves and rouses me. As an idea I 
 suggest it to you. Let us agree that it was a dream. 
 And now be happy. I am willing to believe that 
 I have exaggerated the sadness of your position. 
 You will return to solitude. Nature is good, society 
 nothing to regret. You are rich; a fortune, when all 
 is said, is a delightful possession; I earnestly desire 
 that it may stand for you in the place of all the rest." 
 
 Having said this, with a manner so easy and 
 natural that the old man was quite shaken by it, 
 Mme. de Vaubert rose and withdrew, under pretext 
 of paying a visit in the neighbourhood, leaving 
 Stamply alone, a prey to his reflections. 
 
 These reflections were anything but joyful. 
 Stamply went home, ill-pleased with a proposition 
 that would not have suited him in any way, even 
 supposing it to have been made solely from the point 
 of view of his own happiness. He was a good old 
 man; we have nowhere claimed that he was a saint. 
 For example, he had one passion against which all 
 the insinuations of Mme. de Vaubert were directed in 
 vain. In these docile natures, pliant and malleable as 
 you will, it is by no means rare to encounter a hard 
 point of infrangible resistance, that no effort can 
 break down; it is the steel ring in the chain of gold. 
 Stamply was avaricious after his fashion; he had a 
 passion for property. He loved it for itself, as cer 
 
 73
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 tain minds love power. All his revenues were ex- 
 pended in buying land; it was thus that he had suc- 
 ceeded little by little, by successive encroachments, 
 in buying back in its entirety the ancient demesne of 
 La Seigliere. Of late he had even got possession of 
 two or three metairies that had been alienated for 
 more than a century. Certainly it would have been 
 a fine thing to have accomplished this great work 
 merely for the purpose of offering it to M. le Mar- 
 quis; but, as Stamply said himself, he made no pre- 
 tension of giving his contemporaries such a striking 
 lesson of abnegation, of self-sacrifice and disinter- 
 estedness. He thought that Mme. de Vaubert 
 talked of it too lightly, and that before making any 
 decision it was worth looking at the matter from 
 both sides. He went home, resolved to give up a 
 friendship that would cost him so dear. 
 
 At the outset resignation was easy. Wounded 
 affection, offended pride, the fear that he had been 
 made a dupe, restored to him some vestiges of vital 
 heat and energy. All his old instincts of independ- 
 ence and equality awoke, and for a moment took the 
 upper hand; but this sort of hyper-excitation soon 
 went out like a fire of chaff. In Mme. de Vaubert's 
 company he had contracted the habit of familiar 
 intercourse and intimate confidences. Suddenly re- 
 duced to silence, he felt himself before long the prey 
 to mortal ennui. In a very few days he lost the inte- 
 
 74
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 rior peace and gentle serenity that he had derived 
 from the De Vaubert connection. Deprived of its 
 sole stay, his conscience began once more to fail him. 
 Vanity took its part in tormenting the poor soul. 
 His expulsion from Vaubert was no sort of mystery. 
 The general rumour was that Mme. de Vaubert had 
 ignominiously driven out the " old rogue," and he 
 was ridiculed for it. Stamply might have remained 
 ignorant of all this foolish talk, but one evening, 
 crossing the park, he overheard his servants, not 
 knowing him to be so near, jesting gaily about his 
 misfortunes. His farmers, before whom in happier 
 days he had flaunted his illustrious friendship, affect- 
 ed to inquire of him the latest news of Mme. la 
 Baronne. If he stayed at home, roaming dejectedly 
 from room to room, his household would come to 
 him with an officious air, asking first one and then 
 the other why their master did not cheer up, and dis- 
 tract his thoughts by paying a visit to Mme. la 
 Baronne. If he decided on going out to wander sad- 
 ly about the country, the servants said to themselves, 
 loud enough to be overheard, " There's master 
 going to pass a couple of hours with her Ladyship." 
 Though of a patient disposition, he was often tempt- 
 ed to hit them over the head with his cornel stick. 
 
 The words " Mme. la Baronne " echoed inces- 
 santly in his heart and in his ears. The sight of the 
 Chateau de Vaubert plunged him into an infinite 
 
 75
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 melancholy. He often remained for hours silent and 
 motionless, contemplating the lost and regretted 
 Eden. Even the love of property, that we have 
 already mentioned, no longer sufficed for him; Mme. 
 de Vaubert had developed in him other instincts, 
 other appetites, other no less imperious needs. 
 Moreover, that passion, the sole remaining to him in 
 this world, was poisoned at its source. He remem- 
 bered with terror the miserable end of his excellent 
 consort, Mme. Stamply her scruples, her fears, her 
 remorse, the last words she had pronounced before 
 she expired. He thought of it by day, he dreamed of 
 it by night; excited by loneliness, his imagination 
 peopled his very sleep with lugubrious images now 
 the irritated spectre of his wife, and now the weep- 
 ing shade of Mme. de la Seigliere. After a week 
 or two of this tortured existence, he turned, uncon- 
 sciously, to the idea that the baronne had indicated 
 to him as a harbour. At first no more than a lumi- 
 nous point, scintillating through the mists on the far 
 horizon, insensibly this point enlarged, drew nearer, 
 and shone out as a lighthouse. By dint of examin- 
 ing it under every aspect, Stamply ended by grasping 
 its poetic and attractive side. If his instincts were 
 defiant, at heart he was simple-minded, honest, and 
 credulous. He asked himself if Mme. de Vaubert 
 had not indeed revealed the secret of happiness to 
 him. Granting even that her arguments were only 
 
 76
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 special pleading for the Marquis de la Seigliere and 
 his daughter, Stamply was obliged to admit that 
 from his own stand-point she could not have had bet- 
 ter inspiration. The perspective of happiness that 
 she had shown him disengaged itself little by little 
 from the clouds that obscured it, and converged into 
 an enchanted day. He pictured his house embel- 
 lished by the presence of a young and charming crea- 
 ture; he saw himself introduced by the gratitude of 
 the marquis into the society that had disclaimed him; 
 he heard a chorus of praises rising up around his 
 steps; he seemed to see Mme. de la Seigliere, good 
 Mme. Stamply, and his little Bernard, smiling down 
 on him from heaven. Mistrust, however, still held 
 him back from these favourable inclinations. By 
 what title, for instance, could the marquis and his 
 daughter return to this chateau and its demesne? If 
 he were to resign a fortune so laboriously acquired, 
 would this not be taken as a tacit confession that it 
 had been usurped ? Instead of confounding the en- 
 vious, he would merely be placing a new weapon in 
 their hands. Before taking any step, Stamply re- 
 solved to see Mme. de Vaubert and take counsel 
 with her; but he had hardly touched on the subject 
 of his visit when she interrupted him peremptorily. 
 
 " I must beg," said she, " that there be no further 
 question of this matter between us. There are things 
 that can neither be weighed nor discussed. I repeat 
 
 77
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 that it was your happiness alone that I sought and 
 wished. There was no question in my mind of the 
 marquis nor of his daughter; you alone were at stake 
 so much so that had my idea been welcome to you, 
 and had the marquis accepted it, the benefactor, in 
 my opinion, would have been, not you, but he. Keep 
 your wealth, we are not jealous of it. It is said that 
 poverty is bitter to those who have known wealth. 
 This is a mistake; the contrary is true. We have 
 known fortune, and poverty is welcome to us." 
 
 Whereupon, after inquiring after the health of 
 her old friend, and how he arranged his life, Mme. de 
 Vaubert gave him politely to understand that he 
 must now withdraw; which he did, greatly bewildered 
 at the lofty sentiments that had just been expressed 
 for his benefit. He accused himself of having calum- 
 niated such disinterested intentions; and although 
 he thought it a little strange that the marquis should 
 in this instance pose as the benefactor, and he, 
 Stamply, for the obliged person, he went, no later 
 than the next day, to hand himself over, soul and 
 body, to the discretion of Mme. de Vaubert, who 
 appeared neither delighted nor much surprised there- 
 at. She even displayed considerable reluctance to 
 undertake the affair, for fear, she said, of offend- 
 ing the susceptibilities of her friends. Stamply be- 
 came the more keen in proportion as Mme. de Vau- 
 bert showed less enthusiasm; and if it ever could be 
 
 78
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 a pleasant matter to witness the heart duped by wit, 
 and good-nature exploited by guile, it had surely 
 been an amusing scene in which the good man im- 
 plored the baronne, who protested against it, to in- 
 tercede for him, and to obtain from the marquis the 
 grace of consenting to return to property that was 
 worth a million. 
 
 " If they will only love old Stamply a little," he 
 said; " if only he may see happy faces smiling on him 
 at the end of his life; if only there be some friendly 
 hand to close his eyes, some one to shed a tear at 
 his death here below, and up above, old Stamply 
 will be content." 
 
 You may imagine that Mme. de Vaubert yielded 
 finally to these touching entreaties; what you could 
 not picture is the joy felt by the old simpleton after 
 he had thus prepared his own ruin. He seized the 
 baronne's hands and pressed them to his heart with 
 a feeling of ineffable gratitude.- " For," said he in 
 a broken voice, with tears in his eyes, " it is you, 
 madame, who have pointed me out the way to 
 heaven." 
 
 Mme. de Vaubert felt indeed that it was murder 
 to mislead such a perfect soul; but, now as always, 
 she soon appeased the murmurs of her conscience by 
 saying that Stamply's fate was involved in the suc- 
 cess of her enterprise, that she would not have em- 
 barked on it save to secure the happiness of this 
 
 S Vol. 7 79
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 man, and that in all things the end justifies the 
 means. Nothing remained save to deceive the pride 
 of the marquis, whom she knew to be too good an 
 aristocrat ever to demean himself by accepting alms 
 from his quondam farmer. The baronne wrote: 
 
 " Devoured with remorse, without children, 
 friends, family, Jean Stamply only awaits your re- 
 turn to restore all your property to you. Come, 
 then. As the price of his tardy honesty, the un- 
 fortunate old man begs only that we care for him a 
 little: we will care for him much. Think of the 
 Bearnais proverb, ' Paris is well worth a mass.' ' 
 
 A month later, the return of M. de la Seigliere 
 was accomplished quietly without display or talk. 
 Stamply received him at the gate of the park, and 
 immediately presented him, by way of keys upon a 
 silver tray, with an act of donation, drawn up in 
 touching terms, in which the donor, by an exquisite 
 feeling of delicacy, humiliated himself before the re- 
 cipient of his gift. 
 
 " M. le Marquis," he said to him, " you are at 
 home." 
 
 The speech was short. The marquis thought it 
 well expressed. He pocketed the act which restored 
 him to the ownership of all his property, embraced 
 Stamply, and took his arm; then, followed by his 
 daughter, who walked between Mme. de Vaubert 
 and Raoul, he entered his chateau, as young in 
 
 80
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 Spirit as when he left it, with no more ado than if 
 he had been returning from an afternoon walk. 
 
 And if, to pursue the suppositions of Mme. de 
 Vaubert, Napoleon Bonaparte, reducing the gran- 
 deur of his part to the insignificant proportions of 
 bourgeois honesty, had consented to be merely the 
 man of business to the Bourbon family; if, after pick- 
 ing up the crown of France at his sword's point, he 
 had set it on the head of the descendants of St. 
 Louis, instead of placing it upon his own brow, it is 
 to be feared that one chapter the more would by now 
 have been added to the great Book of the Ingratitude 
 of Kings. No outrage on royalty, nor on any indi- 
 vidual, is intended; we allude solely to that ungrate- 
 ful species known in general as Humanity. Without 
 seeking such high examples, let us stay, and form our 
 own judgment, on the banks of the river Clain. 
 
 81
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 AT first all went well; the first months amply 
 realized all the predictions of happiness that Mme. de 
 Vaubert had showered upon Stamply. One may 
 even affirm that the reality far exceeded the old 
 /nan's hopes. On August 25, on the occasion of 
 the Fete du Roi, when M. de la Seigliere called to- 
 gether some of the gentlemen of the town and neigh- 
 bourhood, Stamply was placed between the marquis 
 and his daughter; at dessert, his health was drunk 
 with enthusiasm immediately after that of Louis 
 le Desire. He dined in the same way daily at the 
 table of M. de la Seigliere, more frequently than not 
 in the company of Mme. de Vaubert and her son; for, 
 as in exile, the two establishments formed, properly 
 speaking, but one. They entertained little company: 
 their evenings were spent in the domestic circle. 
 Stamply was present at every gathering, honoured as 
 a patriarch and caressed as a child. The marquis 
 had insisted on his occupying the finest apartments 
 in the chateau. His servants, who hardly did him 
 any services and showed him no respect, found them- 
 selves replaced by diligent and obedient valets, who 
 
 82
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 watched over his requirements and anticipated his 
 every desire. They vied with one another in sur- 
 rounding him with all the attentions dear to old age; 
 nothing was done without consulting him. To these 
 many allurements must be added the presence of 
 Mile, de la Seigliere; while, for ten miles round, the 
 country rang with hymns to the honour of the most 
 upright of farmers. 
 
 But few months had passed, however, before the 
 life at the chateau changed its pace and character. 
 Still as vigorous and alert as he had been at twenty, 
 M. de la Seigliere was not the man to content him- 
 self for long with domestic felicity. He had taken 
 to his fortune again like yesterday's coat, and 
 remembered the past only as some fleeting shower. 
 Lively, nimble, cheery, in good health, he was as 
 well preserved in exile as a primrose under the snow. 
 The twenty-five years that had elapsed had not aged 
 him by a day. He had found the triple secret which 
 enables one to die young at a hundred: egoism, light- 
 heartedness, frivolity; for the rest, he was the most 
 amiable and the most charming of marquises. No 
 one would have believed, after a few months, that a 
 Revolution had passed that way. The ceilings and 
 panels were regilded, the furniture and hangings 
 renewed, the monograms and escutcheons replaced; 
 every trace of the invasion of the barbarians had 
 been washed off, scraped, and obliterated. To bor- 
 
 83
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 row the charitable expressions of Mme. de Vaubert, 
 who by this time stood on no ceremony in her jokes, 
 the stables of Augeas had been cleaned out. Soon 
 there were ceaseless fetes and galas, receptions and 
 royal hunts. From morning till night, often from 
 night till morning, carriages with armorial bearings 
 pressed into the courts and avenues. The Chateau 
 de la Seigliere became the salon of all the aristocracy 
 in the country. An army of lackeys and scullions 
 had invaded the kitchens and antechambers. Twen- 
 ty horses were pawing in the stables; the kennels 
 were full of dogs; the huntsmen's horns were heard 
 all day. Stamply had reckoned on a more peaceful 
 home, on simpler manners, on more modest tastes; 
 he had not yet reached the sum of his deceptions. 
 
 In the first intoxication of the return everything 
 about him was pronounced charming his costume, 
 his gestures, his language, even his fustian waistcoats. 
 The marquis and Mme. de Vaubert called him openly 
 their friend, and complimented him profusely. 
 
 They never tired of listening to him, they ap- 
 plauded everything he said. He was the pink of the 
 old fashions, a sainted character, a venerable patri- 
 arch. When the pace, of the chateau had been set 
 to a brilliant, well-marked tune, they began to recog- 
 nise that he made a false note in the composition. 
 No one said so just at first. For quite a long while 
 the marquis and Mme. de Vaubert still referred to 
 
 84
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 the good, dear, excellent M. Stamply; only from 
 time to time they qualified it with certain reserva- 
 tions. From one evasion to another, from limita- 
 tion to limitation, they arrived at a mutual confes- 
 sion that this pink of old fashion was a boor, this 
 patriarch a clown. They were galled by his famil- 
 iarities, after having encouraged them; what had 
 passed some months before as the geniality of a 
 crony, was by this time only the coarseness of a 
 vulgar mind. As long as they confined themselves 
 to the family circle, it could be endured with resig- 
 nation; in the midst of the luxury and splendour of 
 aristocratic life, the good man was obviously no 
 longer welcome. What the marquis and the ba- 
 ronne never admitted to each other, what they both 
 took good care not to confess even to themselves, 
 was that they owed him too much to love him. 
 
 Gratitude, like that alpine flower that grows upon 
 the heights, and dies in the lower regions, flourishes 
 only in elevated natures. Or again, it is like that 
 choice Eastern essence that can be preserved only 
 in golden vessels* it yields its perfume in great souls 
 and turns bitter in small minds. The presence of 
 Stamply reminded the marquis of importunate obli- 
 gations; the baronne owed him a secret grudge for 
 the part she had played in regard to him. Accord- 
 ingly, they prepared to turn him out, with all the 
 consideration and all the discretion practised by 
 
 85
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 those who are comme il faut. On the pretext that 
 the rooms he occupied in the centre of the chateau 
 were exposed to the north winds, they relegated him 
 to the most remote quarter of the building. After 
 observing one day, with affectionate solicitude, that 
 noisy gatherings and sumptuous repasts were suited 
 neither to his taste nor to his years, that his habits 
 and his digestion might suffer for such indiscretions, 
 the marquis begged him not to incommode himself, 
 and decided that he should dine separately in future. 
 In vain did Stamply refuse, protesting that he could 
 perfectly accommodate himself to the hours of M. le 
 Marquis. The marquis would not hear of it, and 
 declared that he never would consent to let his old 
 friend be put about for the sake of his guests. " You 
 are in your own home here," he said to him; " do 
 make yourself at home, live as you like. At your 
 age one's habits cannot change." And so on, till 
 Stamply ended by taking all his meals in his own 
 room, like a recluse. The rest corresponded. By 
 insensible transitions they got to treating him with 
 exaggerated politeness; the marquis held him at a 
 distance by his very consideration; Mme. de Vaubert 
 forced him to beat a retreat under the cross-fire of 
 her grand airs and fine manners. As soon as he 
 appeared with his nailed shoes, blue woollen stock- 
 ings, and corded breeches, they pretended to pitch 
 the conversation in the court tone; not knowing 
 
 86
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 what to make of it, Stamply would retire in con- 
 fusion, humiliated and crestfallen. 
 
 And thus the wall of clay that had so long sepa- 
 rated him from society changed by degrees into a 
 crystal mirror, a transparent barrier indeed, but as 
 impassable as the former; while the worthy man had 
 the added satisfaction of seeing all the revenues of 
 the fine estate, which he had reconstructed at the 
 price of twenty-five years of labour and privation, 
 dissipated in fire-works of every kind. In the even- 
 ing, after his solitary meal, when he passed under the 
 windows of the chateau, he heard joyous bursts of 
 conversation mingled with the rattle of glass and 
 porcelain. By day, wandering sad and alone over 
 the lands he had loved so dearly, which no longer 
 recognised him as master, he saw from afar the 
 horses, equipages, hounds, and huntsmen scouring 
 the plain, and disappearing in the woods, to the 
 sound of trumpets. At night in his often-interrupt- 
 ed slumbers, he would sit up to listen to the tumult 
 of the ball; it was he who had paid the fiddlers. For 
 the rest he was in want of nothing. His table was 
 abundantly served. Once a week the marquis sent 
 to inquire after him; and when Mme. de Vaubert 
 met him on his walks, she saluted him with a charm- 
 ing, friendly gesture. 
 
 At the end of a year, there was no more question 
 of Stamply than if he did not exist, than if he never 
 
 87
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 had existed. To the commotion which had centred 
 round him for a moment, had succeeded silence and 
 oblivion. They never even remembered that he had 
 once possessed this mansion, park, and property. 
 After receiving him, caressing him, petting him like 
 a faithful hound, society ended by treating him as 
 if he were a cur. The poor old fellow did not even 
 enjoy the consideration that had been the dream of 
 his life. People believed, or pretended to believe, 
 that in recalling the La Seiglieres he had merely 
 given in to public opinion. 
 
 They put his generous act down to compulsory 
 probity, too tardy to be reckoned to him for right- 
 eousness. And lastly, his former farmers, proud to 
 have become once more the chattels of a great noble, 
 revenged themselves, by the most flagrant contempt, 
 for ever having lived under the fraternal government 
 of a peasant such as themselves. All this had been 
 accomplished gradually, without cataclasm, shock, 
 or even calculation the natural sequence of events 
 in this world. It was long before Stamply himself 
 realized what was passing round him. When at last 
 his eyes were opened, and he saw his destiny writ 
 clear, he did not murmur; an angel was watching at 
 his side, who gazed upon him smiling. 
 
 Mile, de la Seigliere had been endowed by the 
 mother she never knew, and by the poverty in the 
 midst of which she was brought up, with a self-con-
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 tained character, a thoughtful mind, a serious spirit. 
 By a contrast common enough in families, she had 
 developed in the opposite direction from the examples 
 she saw before her, retaining nothing of her father, 
 to whom, for the rest, she was passionately devoted, 
 and who cherished her in equal measure; only there 
 was something protective and adorably maternal 
 about Helene's love, while that of the marquis re- 
 flected all the puerilities of childhood. Educated in 
 solitude, Mile, de la Seigliere was but a serious child 
 herself. Her mother had transmitted to her, with 
 the pure blood of her ancestors, that royal beauty 
 that delights, like the lily and the swan, in castellated 
 shades and solitary parks. Tall, slender, upright, 
 and somewhat fragile, she had the willowy, flexible 
 grace of a spike of blossoms shaken by the wind. 
 Her hair was like golden corn, and by a rare fortune, 
 her eyes shone under brown lashes, like twin ebony 
 stars upon an alabaster complexion, whose expres- 
 sion they enhanced, without detracting from its an- 
 gelic placidity. From her restrained step, her sad 
 and gentle expression calm, serene, half-smiling 
 a poet might have taken her for some beautiful, 
 dreaming angel entrusted with the task of gathering 
 up the sighs of earth and bearing them to heaven, 
 or for one of the pale apparitions that glide upon 
 the banks of lakes in the silvery mists of evening. 
 Knowing nothing of life or of society, other than 
 
 89
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 what her father had imparted to her, she had assisted 
 without pleasure in the sudden change that had come 
 into her existence. Home for her was the corner 
 of the world in which she had been born, where her 
 mother had died. France, which she knew only 
 from the misfortunes of her family, and by the leg- 
 ends of the emigration, never had attracted her; nor 
 did opulence please her imagination. Far from im- 
 bibing pride and consciousness of race, like Raoul, 
 from the conversations of the marquis, she had early 
 deduced from them a love of the humble condition 
 in which destiny had set her birthplace. Her dreams 
 and ambitions never had transcended the little gar- 
 den which she cultivated herself; never had the Mar- 
 quis de la Seigliere succeeded in awakening in this 
 young breast either a desire or a regret. She smiled 
 a gentle assent to all he said; if he spoke too bitterly 
 of his lost wealth, she drew him out into her garden, 
 showed him the flowers of her borders, and asked 
 if France could produce any that were fresher and 
 more beautiful. And thus on the day of their depar- 
 ture she choked down her tears, since for her exile 
 had begun that day. When she set foot upon the 
 soil of France, that tormented soil that she had 
 always viewed from afar like some stormy sea, 
 Helene had vainly striven against a feeling of 
 sadness and terror. In passing beneath the hered- 
 itary roof, she felt an oppression of her heart, and 
 
 90
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 her eyes moistened with tears that were not tears 
 of joy. 
 
 Once these first impressions dissipated, however, 
 Mile, de la Seigliere became acclimatized without 
 difficulty in her new position. There are some cho- 
 sen spirits whom fortune never surprises, who, as they 
 support the most contrary destinies with equal ease, 
 are always, without taking thought, on the same 
 high level of prosperity. While she kept her na- 
 tive grace and simplicity, this young and beautiful 
 creature, framed so naturally in the luxury of her 
 ancestors, herself appeared so little astonished at 
 finding herself there, that no one, observing her, 
 would have supposed her to have been born in an- 
 other cradle or brought up in a different atmos- 
 phere. She continued to love Raoul as before with 
 fraternal tenderness, not suspecting that any deeper 
 or more exalted sentiment could exist than that 
 which she experienced for this young man. She 
 knew nothing of love; the few books she had read 
 tended rather to lull than to awaken her adolescent 
 imagination. The personages whom her father's 
 tales had represented to her in all ages as types of 
 distinction, of grace, and elegance, all resembled M. 
 de Vaubert more or less closely, while he, who \vas 
 an absolute cipher, with most distinguished man- 
 ners, contradicted in no particular the ideas Helene 
 had formed to herself of a husband. They had played 
 
 9*
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 on the same threshold and grown up under one roof. 
 Mme. de la Seigliere had cradled the childhood of 
 Raoul; Mme. de Vaubert had supplied the place of 
 mother to Helene. They were both beautiful, both 
 in the flower of their years. The prospect of being 
 one day united, offered nothing that could distress 
 them. They cared for each other with that moder- 
 ate affection that is common enough between lovers 
 betrothed in early years, before they have reached 
 the age of love. 
 
 Marriage is a desirable end to arrive at, but it is 
 a mistake to think about it too long beforehand, 
 under penalty of lessening the amenities of the way. 
 A stranger to all the acts as well as to the interests 
 of positive life; upright in heart, but having only 
 confused notions, false or incomplete, about every- 
 thing; brought up from her earliest years in the 
 belief that her family had been dispossessed by one 
 of their tenants; Helene thought ingenuously that 
 Stamply had only refunded the property of his mas- 
 ters. Yet, while she was unconscious of owing any- 
 thing to his generosity, she smiled from the first upon 
 the good old man, who, for his part, never tired of 
 considering her with a sentiment of respect and ado- 
 ration, as if he already felt that of all the affection 
 surrounding him, that of this lovely girl was alone 
 artless and sincere. 
 
 In effect, Mile, de la Seigliere unconsciously real- 
 92
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 ized all the promises made by Mme. de Vaubert; 
 without knowing it, she discharged all the debts of 
 the marquis. In proportion as every one ehe with- 
 drew from Stamply, Helene felt more and more at- 
 tracted to him. Isolated herself in the midst of the 
 noisy crowd, mysterious sympathies were before long 
 established between these two souls, one of whom 
 was repulsed by, while the other repulsed, the world. 
 The amiable girl became, as it were, the Antigone 
 of this new QEdipus, the Cordelia of the new King 
 Lear. She enlivened his cares and peopled his iso- 
 lation. She was like a pearl at the bottom of his 
 bitter cup, a star in his dark night, a blossom on his 
 withered stalk. The strange thing was, that she, who 
 at first had yielded to nothing but a feeling of the 
 purest pity, ended by rinding with this old companion 
 more food for heart and mind than she had ever got 
 from the sonorous and empty, brilliant and frivo- 
 lous society, in the midst of which her days were 
 spent. Strangely enough, indeed, it was the poor 
 old man who directed her first impulses, and gave 
 the first awakening to her young intelligence. In 
 the morning when every one was sleeping in the cha- 
 teau, at night when the torches were lit for some 
 fete, Helene would escape with him, either to the 
 park or out into the open fields. During the long 
 talks they held together Stamply related the great 
 things that had been done by the republic and the 
 
 93
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 empire. Helene listened with astonishment and 
 curiosity to his artjess tales, so unlike any she had 
 heard before. Sometimes Stamply would show her 
 Bernard's letters, the only treasure he still possessed. 
 As she read them, Helene would quiver like a young 
 charger awakened by the bugles. At other times 
 he would speak to her about her mother, the beauti- 
 ful and well-loved marquise whom he cherished in 
 his memories. His language was simple; Helene 
 felt her eyes grow moist as she listened. Then he 
 spoke of Bernard, for they always came back to the 
 dear, dead son. He told of his turbulent boyhood, 
 his impetuous and heroic death. The soul of the 
 turtle-dove is attracted by the lion-hearted; Helene 
 took pleasure in all these conversations, always 
 speaking herself of the young man as of a friend who 
 was no more. 
 
 Thus they rambled on, talking together; and it is 
 a proof of the amiable and excellent disposition of 
 old Stamply that in these frequent talks he never 
 permitted himself to complain of the ungrateful 
 friends who had deserted him, and Helene continued 
 to think that in despoiling himself he had only ac- 
 complished an act strictly due to conscience and prob- 
 ity. Perhaps, too, it was sweet to him to feel that 
 he was loved for himself. He knew now that Mile, 
 de la Seigliere was destined for Raoul; he was aware 
 that the wishes of their parents had bound them from 
 
 94
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 infancy to each other; the thread that had guided 
 Mme. de Vaubert was in his hand; he knew all and 
 understood all at last. If he reproached her in his 
 secret heart, he did not betray this feeling to his 
 young friend; he hid from her, like some shameful 
 sore, the afflicting spectacle of human ingratitude. 
 If Helene was distressed at the retired existence he 
 was leading, he would reply with an air of melan- 
 choly: "What can one do? Society was not made 
 for old Stamply, nor old Stamply for society. Since 
 M. le Marquis is good enough to let me live in my 
 own corner, I will make the most of it. I have 
 always been fond of solitude and silence; M. le Mar- 
 quis rightly felt that one can't reform at my age. 
 Kind girl," he added, " your presence and your 
 gentle smiles are treat enough for me! " Old Stamp- 
 ly had never dreamed of anything so lovely. 
 
 Towards the end he wanted to pay one last visit 
 to the farm where his father had died, where his son 
 had been born, where he himself had left his happi- 
 ness in quitting it. Already broken by illness, long 
 since bent with sorrow, he went there alone, leaning 
 on his cornel stick. The farm was deserted, every 
 one was working in the fields. After going into the 
 rustic dwelling, where nothing had been changed; 
 after recognising the oak chest, the bed that shut 
 into a cupboard with curtains of green serge, the 
 image of the Virgin before which for ten years he 
 
 95
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 had seen his wife pray every night and morning; 
 after enjoying the good smell of milk in the pans, 
 and of the fresh bread piled up on the shelves, he 
 sat down in the court-yard on a stone bench. It was 
 a hot summer's evening. In the distance he heard 
 the song of the haymakers, the barking of dogs, the 
 lowing of the cattle. The air was impregnated with 
 the scent of hay. In front of Stamply, on the mossy 
 roof, a flock of pigeons were cooing, and strutting 
 up and down. " My poor wife was right," sighed 
 the old man as he dragged himself away from this 
 picture of bygone happiness, " it was an evil day on 
 which we left our farm." 
 
 Burdened less with age than with sorrow, he died 
 two years after the return of the marquis, with no 
 one besides Mile, de la Seigliere to close his eyes. 
 When on the point of expiring, he turned to her 
 and gave her the letters from his son. " Take them," 
 said he; "it is all they have left me, all I have left 
 to give." He expired without regret, happy in the 
 thought of rejoining his wife and his little Bernard. 
 
 His death made no blank save in his room and in 
 the heart of Helene. At the chateau it was dis- 
 cussed for three days. "That poor Stamply!" said 
 the marquis; " when all's said, he was a worthy man." 
 " Very prosy," sighed Mme. de Vaubert. " Very 
 unmannerly," added Raoul. " Very excellent," mur- 
 mured Helene. That was all his funeral oration. 
 
 96
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 Helena alone fulfilled the tribute of tears that had 
 been promised to his tomb. It is, however, well to 
 add that the end of the " old rogue " excited in the 
 neighbourhood the indignation of a party that was 
 then beginning to dawn on the political horizon 
 as they elegantly expressed it. Hypocritically en- 
 vious, essentially less liberal than was indicated by 
 its name, this party, which in the provinces consisted 
 of chattering and mediocre advocates, of consequen- 
 tial and arrogant bourgeois, made a hero of Stamply 
 dead, after outraging him in his lifetime. It was not 
 that they cared for him the least bit in the world; but 
 they detested the aristocracy. They set him on a 
 pedestal; they awarded him a martyr's palm, without 
 suspecting to what degree the poor man had really 
 merited it. In short, they roundly accused Mme. de 
 Vaubert of intrigue and the marquis of ingratitude; 
 and thus, for once, these petty passions and petty 
 hatreds fortuitously encountered truth upon their 
 road, perhaps without having sought her. 
 
 The date fixed for the marriage of Helene and 
 Raoul was, however, drawing near. While the time 
 was still too far off to suit M. de Vaubert, Mile, de 
 la Seigliere neither wished for it nor dreaded it; she 
 saw its approach without impatience, but also with- 
 out alarm. Whatever it cost her, it may even be 
 affirmed that she felt less sadness than pleasure in 
 the prospect. Her conversations with Stamply, the 
 
 97
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 reading of Bernard's letters, which she had found 
 herself conning more than once after the death of 
 her old friend, had indeed led her to vague compari- 
 sons that were not exactly to the advantage of the 
 young baron; but it was all too involved in her mind 
 for her to form any definite ideas about it. More- 
 over, she was too loyal even to think it could be pos- 
 sible to go back upon an engagement that had been 
 made, a promise given. As the betrothed of Raoul, 
 from the first moment she had understood the sense 
 and bearing of the words, this fair girl had looked 
 upon herself as a bride before God. And lastly, the 
 marriage was agreeable to the marquis. Raoul con- 
 cealed his nullity under a mask of grace and elegance; 
 he was wanting neither in the attractions of his age 
 nor in the chivalrous qualities of his race; and, for 
 the rest, Mme. de Vaubert, who kept a sharp look- 
 out, never failed when the occasion arose to lend him 
 the wit he did not possess. Everything was going 
 on admirably, nothing seemed likely to disturb the 
 current of prosperity, when an unexpected event up- 
 set the balance. 
 
 They were celebrating on the same day at the 
 chateau the birthday of the king, the third anniver- 
 sary of the return of the marquis to his estates, and 
 the betrothal of Raoul and Helene. This triple 
 function had attracted all the high aristocracy of the 
 town and neighbourhood. At nightfall the chateau 
 
 98
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 and park were illuminated, fire-works were sent off on 
 the top of the hill, and then the ball was opened in 
 the salons, while the village people danced outside 
 under the trees to the sound of bagpipes. Mme. 
 de Vaubert, who was in touch with the goal of her 
 ambitions, did not dissimulate the satisfaction she 
 felt. The mere presence of Mlle.^de la Seigliere 
 sufficiently justified the pride and happiness that 
 radiated like a double aureole from Raoul's brow. 
 As to the marquis, he was beside himself with joy. 
 Each time he appeared on the balcony his vassals 
 made the air ring with cries of " Long live our 
 master! Long live our seigneur! " repeated a 
 thousand times with an enthusiasm that bubbled 
 from the hearts of these worthy people and from 
 the cellars of the chateau. Stamply had been dead 
 some months. Who thought of him? No one, un- 
 less it was Helene, who had sincerely loved him, and 
 kept him in pious memory. That evening Mile, de 
 la Seigliere was distracted, dreamy, preoccupied. 
 Why? She herself could not have told you. She 
 loved her fiance, at least she believed that she loved 
 him. She had grace and beauty, love and youth, 
 rank and fortune; she was surrounded by kindly 
 looks and encouraging smiles; life seemed to promise 
 her nothing but caresses and enchantments. Why 
 was her young heart oppressed, her lovely eyes veiled 
 with melancholy? Was her fine and responsive or- 
 
 99
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 ganization, her delicate, nervous nature, already 
 thrilling, like flowers at the approach of the storm, 
 before some presentiment of her destiny? 
 
 That same evening, a cavalier of whom none was 
 thinking rode up the right bank of the Clain. Ar- 
 rived at Poitiers less than an hour before, he had only 
 taken the necessary time to saddle a horse, and had 
 started off at the gallop, making up the stream of the 
 river. The night was dark, without moon or stars. 
 At the turn of the path, as the Chateau de la Sei- 
 gliere came in view, its illuminated fagade standing 
 out in shining lines upon the darkened background 
 of the sky, he pulled his horse up short with a sud- 
 den turn of the bit. At that moment a fiery sheaf 
 shot up from the horizon, spread out into the clouds, 
 and burst in a shower of gold and amethysts and 
 emeralds upon the towers and belfries. Like a 
 doubting traveller who is no longer certain of his 
 road, the horseman glanced round him uneasily; 
 then, sure of not being deceived, he slackened rein, 
 and pursued his way. At the gate of the park he 
 dismounted, and leaving his horse at the entrance, 
 went in, just at the moment when the crowd of rus- 
 tics, in a paroxysm of love and enthusiasm, were 
 shouting simultaneously " Vive le roil " and " Vive 
 le marquis!" All the windows were framed with 
 boughs and decorated with transparencies; the most 
 remarkable, the chef d'ceuvre of a local artist, exhib- 
 
 100
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 ited to admiring eyes the august head of Louis 
 XVIII, which two allegorical divinities were crown- 
 ing with olive-branches. At the foot of the steps 
 the band of a regiment garrisoned at Poitiers played 
 the national air of Vive Henri IV with the full 
 strength of its lungs. The stranger, doubting 
 whether he were awake, observing everything and 
 understanding nothing, impatient to know, afraid to 
 ask, plunged into the fete unnoticed. After wan- 
 dering long, like a shadow, round and round the 
 groups, as he went by one of the tables that had been 
 set up in the alleys he overheard certain words that 
 arrested his attention. He sat down at the end of 
 the wooden bench, not far from two country patri- 
 archs, who were grumbling over the return of the 
 La Seiglieres and the death of old Stamply while 
 they drank up the wine of the chateau. The 
 stranger leaned his arms on the table, and sat for a 
 long time, his head hidden in his hands. 
 
 When he moved away the park was deserted, 
 the chateau silent, the last of the little lanterns was 
 burning out, and the cocks were crowing for day- 
 break. 
 
 101
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 Two days later, in the recess of an open window, 
 near a pretty table of old Sevres porcelain laden 
 with glass and silver plate and the remains of a 
 tempting dejeuner, M. de la Seigliere, in morning 
 dress, reclining rather than sitting in a large, cush- 
 ioned, springy arm-chair, was enjoying that state of 
 comfort and satisfaction entailed as a matter of 
 course by thriving egoism, robust health, secure for- 
 tune, a happy disposition, and a good digestion. He 
 had awakened in good-humour, and had never felt 
 more at ease. Enveloped in a silk dressing-gown 
 with a large flowered pattern, newly shaved, his eyes 
 bright, his lips still red and smiling, his linen spot- 
 less, his limbs well-shaped with plump calves, his 
 white and rounded hand half hidden by a Valen- 
 ciennes cuff, as he played with a gold snuff-box 
 adorned by the portrait of a lady who was not the 
 late marquise his entire person exhaling an agree- 
 able perfume of orris-root and poudre a la marcchale 
 he was sitting there, thinking of nothing in par- 
 ticular, drinking in the green fragrance of his woods, 
 where autumn was beginning to rust the tree tops, 
 
 102
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 and idly watching his blanketed horses as they came 
 back from exercise, when he caught sight of Mme. 
 de Vaubert crossing the bridge over the Clain, in the 
 direction of the chateau. He rose and stretched him- 
 self, examined himself from head to foot, flicked off 
 the grains of snuff that had fallen on his frill of 
 English point, and then, leaning over the balcony, 
 watched the arrival of his amiable visitor. Any one 
 who was at all observing would have seen in Mme. 
 de Vaubert's early start, no less than in her manner, 
 the certain indications of a mind distressed; but the 
 marquis noticed nothing. When she came in he 
 kissed her hand gallantly, without even remarking 
 the alteration of her features and the pallor of her 
 countenance. 
 
 " Mme. la Baronne," he said to her, " you be- 
 come younger and more charming every day. At 
 the pace you are going, a few years more will make 
 you twenty." 
 
 " Marquis," replied Mme. de Vaubert curtly, 
 " that is not what I have come for. Let us talk seri- 
 ously; the matter is worth it. Marquis, all is lost! 
 All, I tell you! The thunder-bolt has fallen on our 
 heads." 
 
 " The thunder-bolt? " cried the marquis, pointing 
 to the sky which shone with the purest, brightest 
 azure. 
 
 "Yes," replied Mme. de Vaubert, "if you im- 
 6 Vol. 7 I0 3
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 agine a thunder-clap bursting from this cloudless sky, 
 to grind your chateau to powder, to burn your farms, 
 to consume your harvest as it stands, you would not 
 suppose anything more improbable than the blow 
 that has fallen upon you. After escaping from the 
 tempest, you are threatened with shipwreck in port." 
 
 M. de la Seigliere turned pale. When they were 
 seated opposite each other: 
 
 " Do you believe in ghosts? " asked the baronne 
 coldly. 
 
 " Eh, madame? " returned the marquis. 
 
 " Because, if you do not believe in them, you 
 ought to," continued Mme. de Vaubert. " Young 
 Stamply, the Bernard whom his father flung at our 
 ears so often, the hero dead and buried six years ago 
 under the frosts of Russia " 
 
 " Well? " asked M. de la Seigliere. 
 
 " Well," continued the baronne, " he was seen 
 yesterday.in the neighbourhood; he was seen in flesh 
 and blood, he was really seen and spoken to, and it 
 is he. It is Bernard Bernard Stamply the son 
 of your old farmer; he exists and lives; the fellow is 
 not dead." 
 
 " But what has that to do with me? " said the 
 marquis airily, with the surprised and pleased ex- 
 pression of the man who, expecting to receive a me- 
 teorite upon his head, finds instead that a feather 
 from a tomtit's wing has lighted on his nose. 
 
 104
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 "How! What has it to do with you?" cried 
 Mme. de Vaubert. " Young Stamply is not dead, 
 he has returned to the country, he has been identi^ 
 fied; and you ask me how it affects you!" 
 
 " Why, certainly/' returned M. de la Seigliere in 
 artless astonishment. " If this boy has any reason to 
 like his life, so much the better for him that he is not 
 dead and buried. I must see him. Why has he not 
 already presented himself? " 
 
 " Be calm," said the baronne. " He will come." 
 
 " Let him come," cried the marquis. " We will 
 receive him; we will see to his needs; if necessary, we 
 will give him a start. I have not forgotten the deli- 
 cacy of his father's proceedings. Old Stamply did 
 his duty; I will now do mine. It is only just that the 
 fellow should profit by the fortune his father has left 
 me. I am not ungrateful; it shall never be said that 
 a La Seigliere left the son of a faithful servant in 
 want. Let Bernard be brought here; if he hesitates, 
 they can reassure him; he shall have whatever he 
 asks." 
 
 " And if he asks for all? " said the baronne. 
 
 At these words the marquis shuddered, and 
 turned to her with a horror-struck expression. 
 
 " Have you read a book called the Code? " asked 
 Mme. de Vaubert tranquilly. 
 
 " Never," replied the marquis with hauteur. 
 
 " I have been reading it this morning for your 
 105
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 benefit. Till yesterday I knew no more about it than 
 you; for your sake, I turned myself into a lawyer's 
 clerk. It is dry enough in style, a book much ap- 
 preciated when it makes good our rights, but little 
 favoured when it contradicts our pretensions. I 
 doubt, for instance, whether you would much relish 
 the chapter that deals with donations between living 
 parties. Read it, however; I recommend it to you for 
 study." 
 
 " Mme. la Baronne," exclaimed the marquis, ris- 
 ing with a little movement of impatience, " will you 
 tell me the meaning of all this? " 
 
 " M. le Marquis," replied Mme. de Vaubert, get- 
 ting up too with the gravity of a doctor, " it means 
 that all free donations are entirely revoked upon the 
 appearance of any legitimate, even if posthumous, 
 child of the donor. This means that Jean Stamply, in 
 the lifetime of his son, could only have disposed of 
 half his goods in your favour; and that, having only 
 disposed of the entirety in the supposition that his 
 son was dead, his dispositions are now worthless. Fi- 
 nally, it means that you are no longer at home here, 
 that Bernard is going to summon you to restore the 
 title to him, and that on the earliest possible day, 
 armed with full legal powers, this boy, to whom you 
 propose to give a start, will summon you to pack off, 
 and will show you politely to the door. Now do you 
 understand? " 
 
 106
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 M. de la Seigliere was overwhelmed, but such 
 was his delightful ignorance of the facts of life that 
 he quickly passed from astonishment and stupor to 
 exasperation and revolt. 
 
 " What do I care for your Code, and your dona- 
 tions between living parties? " he cried with the rage 
 of a naughty child. " Do you expect me to under- 
 stand anything about that? Does that matter to 
 me? All I know is that I am at home here. Why do 
 you go on talking about donations? They gave up 
 what they stole from me, they gave back the proper- 
 ty they took from me, and that is called a donation! 
 A pretty word! A La Seigliere accepting a dona- 
 tion! A nice thing to say! As though the La Sei- 
 glieres had ever accepted anything save from the hand 
 of God! What, ventre-saint-gris! I am in my home, 
 happy and peaceable, and because a rascal who was 
 believed to be dead turns out to be alive, I am to 
 count out to him the fortune that was stolen from 
 me by his blessed father! And the Code says this is 
 to be! But it must have been drawn up by canni- 
 bals, your Code, which calls itself civil; indeed, the 
 impertinence! A usurper's code one which conse- 
 crates rapine and robbery from father to son! In a 
 word, the Code Napoleon! I recognise M. de Bona- 
 parte in that. He thought of his own cubs; a good 
 father and a far-sighted wolf." 
 
 He talked for a long time in this strain, in 
 107
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 broken, disconnected sentences, saying whatever 
 came into his head, walking with great strides, 
 stamping on the parquet, draping himself in a tragi- 
 comical fashion in the skirts of his dressing-gown, 
 repeating every moment in a voice stifled by anger: 
 "A donation! a donation!" Mme. de Vaubert had 
 great difficulty in calming him, in making him under- 
 stand what had happened more than a quarter of a 
 century before, and what was happening now. Hith- 
 erto she had respected his illusions; but the gravity 
 of the present situation admitted of no compromises. 
 She brutally tore off the bandage that veiled his 
 eyes; and it was in vain that the poor marquis stiff- 
 ened and struggled, and shut his eyes with a gesture 
 of pain, like the blind man suddenly restored to sight. 
 Mme. de Vaubert mastered him, and by forcing him 
 to look at the sun of evidence, she flooded him on 
 all sides with a pitiless illumination. If you could 
 have seen the bewilderment of M. de la Seigliere 
 when he listened to the impartial resume of the his- 
 tory of these latter days, you would have said that 
 after going to sleep on the banks of the Clain he 
 had waked up in China, in the midst of a group of 
 bronzes, himself disguised as a mandarin. When the 
 facts had been established, and the past clearly out- 
 lined, " Now," said the baronne firmly, " it is time to 
 settle the question of the future. The case is peril- 
 ous enough; but there is no slough so deep that one 
 
 108
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 cannot get out of it with a little skill and much pres- 
 ence of mind. See, marquis, there is not the slightest 
 doubt that Bernard intends to present himself at any 
 moment; not to ask a favour, as you hoped at first, 
 but as the master, with his head in the air, and with 
 no mistake about what he has to say. There is no 
 lack of people who will have informed him of his 
 rights, and who will give him, at need, the means of 
 obtaining them. Suppose he arrives here; how are 
 you going to receive him? " 
 
 " Let him go to the devil! " exclaimed the mar- 
 quis, bursting out like the bomb that is thought to 
 have exploded. 
 
 " But if he should appear on the scene? " 
 
 " If he dared, Mme. la Baronne, I should recol- 
 lect that he is no gentleman, and, more happy than 
 Louis XIV, I shall not have to throw my cane out of 
 the window." 
 
 " You are mad, marquis." 
 
 " If we have to go to law about the matter, well, 
 we will have the best of him." 
 
 " Marquis, you are childish." 
 
 " I shall have the king on my side." 
 
 " The law will be on his." 
 
 " I will consume my last field sooner than leave 
 him one blade of grass." 
 
 " Marquis, you cannot go to law. The law 
 courts! What are you thinking of? To mix up your 
 
 too
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 name in those scandalous debates! to compromise 
 yourself with justice! and all for the sake of arriving 
 at conclusions that are foregone, infallible, inevi- 
 table! We have enemies, you must not give them 
 this satisfaction. You have a shield; you must not 
 do it this wrong." 
 
 " But in Heaven's name, Mme. la Baronne, what 
 is to be done? What are we to decide? What is 
 to become of us? What part are we to play? " cried 
 the marquis in desperation. 
 
 " I will tell you," replied Mme. de Vaubert firm- 
 ly. " Do you know the story of the snail that ven- 
 tured rashly into a hive? The bees walled it up in 
 honey and wax; then after they had imprisoned it 
 thus in its shell, they rolled away their unwelcome 
 guest, and pushed it out of the hive. Marquis, this 
 is what we ought to do. This Bernard is no doubt 
 a clown like his father; to the graces of his origin he 
 is sure to add the brutality of the soldier and the arro- 
 gance of the young blood. Let us seduce him with 
 wax and honey; let us ensnare him from head to foot. 
 If you irritate him, all will be lost. We must manage 
 him; let him come. He will arrive like a cannon- 
 ball that expects to rebound against a wall of granite 
 or iron; let him bury himself and be deadened in a 
 ball of cotton-wool. Do not run counter to him; 
 above all, avoid discussing your rights or his. Be- 
 ware of your hot blood; you are very youthful still! 
 
 no
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 Instead of contradicting him, flatter his opinions; if 
 necessary, humble your victory before his defeat. 
 The essential thing at first is to bring him gradually 
 to establish himself as a guest in this chateau. When 
 that is accomplished, you will have gained time; time 
 and I will do the rest." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, Mme. la Baronne, and a pretty 
 part it is for us to play! " said the old gentleman 
 proudly. 
 
 " A grand part, sir, a grand part ! " replied the 
 baronne even more proudly. " We are going to fight 
 for our principles, for our altars, and for our hearths; 
 we are going to struggle for right against usurpa- 
 tion; we are going to defend legitimacy against the 
 exactions of an odious and tyrannical legality; we are 
 going to defend our last bulwarks from the invasion 
 of a debased and jealous bourgeoisie, that hates us and 
 desires our ruin. If we lived in the good old days 
 of chivalry, I would tell you to mount your horse, to 
 enter the lists, to fight in the tilt-yard or else, shut 
 up in our castle as if we were in a fortress, you, 
 we, our people, and our vassals, rather than come out 
 of it living would be killed on the ramparts. Unfor- 
 tunately, champions have long since been replaced 
 by lawyers, and heralds-at-arms by sheriff's officers. 
 Seeing that we live in a time when more than ever 
 the court of justice has been substituted for the 
 field of honour, the subtleties of law for the inspi- 
 
 iii
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 rations of courage, it is all the more needful that the 
 noblest and most valiant should use stratagem in- 
 stead of sword, their wits instead of the lance. For 
 the rest, what would you do? There is no question 
 of reducing this young man to beggary. You will 
 be generous, you will do well by him; but in all con- 
 science, what can a poor devil who has just spent six 
 years in the snow, want with a property worth a mil- 
 lion to lie upon, before he can feel himself comfort- 
 ably at rest? My dear marquis, if you have any fur- 
 ther scruples, don't let my advice deter you all con- 
 scientious scruples ought to be respected. Go and 
 find M. Bernard; hand him over your property, like 
 a ring for his finger. And, since you are about it, 
 why not join your parchments and armorial bearings 
 to this little present? This morning I saw Helene, 
 beautiful, radiant, confident of her future; she will 
 learn when she comes home that she is ruined out 
 and out, and that only the humble Castel de Vaubert 
 is left to her. We will go and live a modest existence 
 there, as we used to live in exile. Instead of being 
 united in opulence, our children will wed in poverty. 
 We shall be the talk of the country. Later on, our 
 grandsons will be country bumpkins, and we will 
 sell our grand-daughters to the vanity of any vulgar 
 upstart. There is nothing alarming in the prospect; 
 let alone the satisfaction of always having the Cha- 
 teau de la Seigliere before your eyes, with M. Ber- 
 
 112
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 nard hunting, leading a gay life, and having a fine 
 time on your estates." 
 
 " Baronne," exclaimed M. de la Seigliere, " you 
 have the genius of a Medici." 
 
 " Ungrateful man, I have the genius of a heart," 
 replied Mme. de Vaubert, smiling. " What do I 
 want? What do I ask? The happiness of those 
 whom I love. For myself I have no ambition. Do 
 you think I should be seriously alarmed myself at the 
 idea of living with you en famille, in my little manor? 
 Eh! mon Dieu! I have long been used to poverty; 
 my Raoul never expected any fortune. But for you 
 and your beautiful Helene, and the children who will 
 spring from this delightful union, it is this, marquis, 
 that frightens me." 
 
 They had got to this point in their discussion 
 when a lackey announced that a stranger, who re- 
 fused to give his name, was asking to speak with M. 
 le Marquis. 
 
 " It is our friend," said the baronne. 
 
 " Let him come in," said the marquis. 
 
 " Now, do remember," added Mme. de Vaubert 
 hurriedly, " that the success of the whole affair will 
 depend on this first interview." 
 
 The parquet of the corridor resounded with a 
 rapid step, firm and ringing, and the next moment 
 the person who had just been announced entered in 
 military fashion, booted and spurred, his hat and 
 
 "D
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seiglire 
 
 riding-whip in his hand. While bearing obvious 
 marks of fatigue and suffering, he was a man who 
 appeared to be at most thirty years of age. His un- 
 covered forehead, lined already by precocious wrin- 
 kles, his emaciated cheeks, his eye sunk deep in its 
 orbit, his thin, pale lips, shaded by a heavy brown 
 mustache, his open and determined expression, to- 
 gether with his proud and ever haughty air, made up 
 one of those figures that are reckoned ugly in the 
 eyes of the world, but which artists are generally 
 weak enough to consider beautiful. A blue coat, 
 buttoned up to the chin, showed the lines of his tall, 
 straight, supple figure. As soon as he entered the 
 salon, which he seemed to recognise, his expression 
 softened, and he was evidently affected. But having 
 promptly mastered this involuntary emotion, he 
 bowed slightly when a few steps away from the ba- 
 ronne, and then addressed the marquis: 
 
 " I have the honour of speaking to M. de la Sei- 
 gliere? " he asked with icy politeness, and in a voice 
 that still retained its habit of command. 
 
 " As you say, sir. May I ask in my turn " 
 
 " In a moment, sir," replied the young man cold- 
 ly. " If, as I suppose, madame, I have also the 
 honour of addressing Mme. de Vaubert, I beg that 
 you will stay you will not incommode us at this 
 interview." 
 
 A gleam of joy shot through the eyes of Mme. de 
 114
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 Vaubert, completely reassured as to the issue of a 
 battle of which she had arranged the plan, and which 
 she would now be able to direct. On his side, M. de 
 la Seigliere breathed more freely, since he felt that 
 he was going to manoeuvre under the orders of this 
 great captain. 
 
 " Pray be seated, sir," he said, sitting down him- 
 self opposite the baronne. 
 
 The young man took the chair indicated by the 
 marquis, and sat down cavalierly enough; then there 
 fell between these three persons a moment of the 
 solemn silence that precedes a decisive engagement, 
 when two armies are drawn up opposite each other. 
 The marquis opened his gold box, plunged in his 
 thumb and ringer, and filled his nostrils with a pinch 
 of Spanish snuff, slowly, in small quantities, with a 
 peculiar grace that is entirely lost in our generation. 
 
 " Sir," said he, " I am all attention." 
 
 After reflecting for a few seconds, the stranger 
 leaned his elbow on the arm of the chair in which he 
 was sitting beside the old gentleman. 
 
 " M. le Marquis," he said, raising his voice with 
 an air of authority, " it is nearly thirty years since we 
 thought great things were about to happen. France 
 was all expectation. A new aurora was dawning 
 white upon the horizon. A new world was about to 
 make its appearance. Vague rumours in the air 
 filled every heart with joy or terror, with hope or 
 
 "5
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 stupor. It would seem, sir, that you were not of 
 the number of those who then hoped and rejoiced, 
 for you were one of the first to abandon your 
 threatened country and fly to a foreign land. Your 
 country called you back, as was her duty; you were 
 deaf to her appeal, as no doubt suited your good 
 pleasure; she confiscated your estates, as was her 
 right." 
 
 At these words, the marquis, already forgetting 
 the role he had tacitly accepted, bounded up in his 
 chair like a wounded chamois. A look from Mme. 
 de Vaubert restrained him. 
 
 " These estates, which had become the property 
 of the nation, its legal and legitimate property, were 
 bought by one of your farmers at the price of his 
 sweat; and when he had worked hard, when at the 
 end of twenty-five years of labour and fatigue he 
 had, as it were, sewn together shred by shred the do- 
 main of your ancestors while you, with your arms 
 crossed, were busy over there doing nothing, except 
 perhaps making vows inimical to the glory and great- 
 ness of France he divested himself of it like a cloak 
 and laid it over your shoulders." 
 
 " Ventre-saint-gris, sir! " cried the marquis, out of 
 his senses. 
 
 A second look from Mme. de Vaubert pulled him 
 up short, and nailed him dumb to his seat. 
 
 " What was the enchantment which led this man, 
 116
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 who owed you nothing, and loved you less, to be- 
 have to you with this excessive generosity, affection, 
 and enthusiasm? What made him decide to give 
 over into your hands this consecrated property of 
 labour, the only property God recognises and blesses? 
 Perhaps you can inform me. What I can tell you 
 myself is that during his son's life this man did not 
 even trouble himself to think whether or no you were 
 alive. The fact remains that he died without pre- 
 serving for himself even a corner of land for his last 
 sleep, leaving you the peaceful possessor of a fortune 
 that cost you nothing more than the trouble of open- 
 ing your hand to receive it." 
 
 The marquis was about to reply, when the ba- 
 ronne interrupted him, or rather stood sponsor for 
 what he ought to say. 
 
 " Since you have permitted me to assist at this 
 interview, sir," she said in her softest voice, in ac- 
 cents of exquisite urbanity, " you must allow me to 
 take part in it. I will not attempt any criticism of 
 what is cruel and wounding to us in some of your 
 expressions. You are young; if, like ourselves, you 
 had seen the dawn of this new aurora of which you 
 speak, you would know, as we do, that it was an 
 aurora of blood. As to the reproaches you address 
 to us of having deserted the soil of France, and of 
 remaining deaf to our country's appeal, we may be 
 allowed to smile at this. If some one came to tell 
 
 117
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 you that this mansion threatened to fall down, that 
 this floor was trembling under your feet, and that 
 this ceiling, ready to collapse, was creaking and 
 groaning over our heads, would you remain quietly 
 seated in that arm-chair? If the executioner, with 
 his axe behind his back, was calling to you in a 
 wheedling voice, would you hasten to run to him? 
 Let be with these childish notions. And one more 
 word. You accuse us of having formed in exile 
 vows that are hostile to the glory and the greatness 
 of our country. That is a mistake, sir. We meet 
 for the first time; we do not know who you are, nor 
 what motive brings you here; but we can feel that 
 you are inimical to us, and the nobility that breathes 
 from your person compels us to seek your esteem, 
 if we cannot have your sympathies. Pray believe 
 that among the ranks of the emigration (perhaps 
 too grossly calumniated) there were generous hearts 
 that still remained French upon an alien soil. In 
 vain our country cast us forth from her bosom; we 
 carried her away in ours. Ask the marquis if our 
 prayers did not follow this dear and ungrateful coun- 
 try in all her campaigns and on all her battlefields. 
 Let him tell you if there was a single triumph that 
 did not awaken the proudest echoes in our hearts. 
 Rocroi did not exclude Austerlitz; Bouvines and 
 Marengo are sisters. The flag is not the same, but 
 she is always the same conquering France." 
 
 118
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 "Excellent, excellent!" said the marquis, open- 
 ing his snuff-box. 
 
 And as he carried a pinch of brown powder to his 
 nostrils, " Decidedly," thought he, " the devil is in 
 this baronne." 
 
 " And now," continued Mme. de Vaubert, " this 
 little matter being set right, if you have only come 
 here to remind us what is owing to the memory of 
 the best of men, if that alone is the object of your 
 mission, I must add, sir, that while it is undoubtedly 
 a noble task, you have given yourself useless trouble, 
 since our debts are paid already. If, finally, you ask 
 by what enchantment M. Stamply decided to re- 
 store these estates to a family that had showered 
 blessings upon his family from time immemorial, I 
 will tell you that he only obeyed the fine instincts 
 of his pious soul. You affirm that during the life- 
 time of his son M. Stamply did not even care to 
 know if this family still existed; I think, sir, that 
 you are outraging his memory. If his son were to 
 return among us " 
 
 " If his son were to return among you ! " cried the 
 stranger, with a gesture of fierce anger. " Suppose, 
 then, that he were to return ; suppose this young man 
 had not been killed, as has been, and still is, believed; 
 supposing that, left for dead on one of the battle- 
 fields, he was taken up alive by the enemy's army, 
 and dragged from steppe to steppe to the far re- 
 
 "9
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seiglifcre 
 
 gions of Siberia. After six years of a horrid captiv- 
 ity, on an icy soil, under an iron-bound sky, he gets 
 free at last, and comes to see his country and his 
 aged father, who no longer expects him. He starts 
 off, crosses those desolate plains on foot, begging his 
 bread gaily enough as he goes, for France is at the 
 end of his journey, and already, in an enchanted 
 mirage, he seems to see his father's roof smoking on 
 the distant horizon. He arrives; his old father is 
 dead, his inheritance has been despoiled, he has no 
 longer hearth nor home. What does he do? He 
 makes inquiries, and soon learns that advantage had 
 been taken of his absence to capture the affections 
 of a poor, credulous, and defenceless old man. He 
 learns that, after inducing him by a variety of subter- 
 fuges to give up his possessions, his benefits were 
 repaid by the blackest ingratitude; he learns, in 
 short, that his father has died, more lonely, more sad, 
 more desolate than he had lived. What will he do 
 next? We are still supposing. He will go and find 
 out the authors of these base machinations and cow- 
 ardly manoeuvres; he will say to them: ' Here am I; 
 I whom you believed to be dead; I, the son of the 
 man whom you have misused, despoiled, betrayed, 
 and left to die of ennui and of sorrow. Here am I, 
 Bernard Stamply!' What would they have to say 
 for themselves? I ask you, M. le Marquis; I ask you, 
 Mme. la Baronne." 
 
 120
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 " What would they say? " cried M. de la Seigliere, 
 who had counted on himself too much, or too little, 
 when he accepted the part delegated to him by Mme. 
 de Vaubert, and now felt all his patrician blood 
 mounting to his face. " You ask what they would 
 say? " he added in a voice strangled by pride and 
 rage. 
 
 " What could be simpler, sir? " said Mme. de 
 Vaubert with charming naivete. " They would say 
 to him: * Is it you, young friend, whom we have 
 loved without knowing, whom we have mourned as 
 though you had been known? Thank God for giving 
 us back the son, to console us for the loss of the 
 father! Come and live in our midst; come and re- 
 cuperate under our tender care from the sufferings 
 of your captivity; come and take up in our family 
 life the place that your father occupied, for too short 
 a time, alas! In short, come and see for yourself how 
 we forget our benefactors. We will combine our 
 rights, we will form one family; and calumny, seeing 
 the union of our souls, will be reduced to silence, and 
 will respect our happiness.' That, sir, is what the 
 authors of these base manoeuvres and cowardly trea- 
 sons would reply. But, sir, tell me, speak," added 
 Mme. de Vaubert, with emotion, " can you not un- 
 derstand that in thinking to alarm us you have 
 almost awakened our hopes? This young friend 
 
 whom we have wept " 
 
 121
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 " Is living," replied the stranger; " and I hope 
 for your sake that this young friend may not cost 
 you more tears living than were shed for the report 
 of his death." 
 
 " Where is he? What is he doing? What is he 
 waiting for? Why does he not come here? " asked 
 the baronne, in a rapid volley of questions. 
 
 " He is before you," replied Bernard simply. 
 
 " You, sir, you ! " cried Mme. de Vaubert with an 
 explosion of joy and surprise that could not have 
 been more plausible had Raoul's resurrection been 
 in question. " And, indeed," she added, gazing at 
 him with emotion, " he has all his father's features; 
 above all, his frank, loyal, open expression. Mar- 
 quis, look; he is undoubtedly the son of our old 
 friend." 
 
 " Sir," said M. de la Seigliere in his turn, fasci- 
 nated by the baronne's eye no less than by the abyss 
 that yawned under his feet, but too proud still, and 
 too much the gentleman, to feign transports that he 
 was far from feeling, " when, after twenty-five years 
 of exile, I re-entered the demesne of my ancestors, 
 your father, who was a worthy man, received me at 
 the gate of the park, and made this simple speech: 
 ' M. le Marquis, you are at home here.' I will not say 
 more than that. You are at home here, M. Bernard. 
 Be good enough, therefore, to look on this house as 
 your own; I cannot, and will not allow you to live 
 
 122
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 elsewhere. You have come with hostile intentions. 
 I do not despair of bringing you back to better 
 feelings. Let us begin by making acquaint- 
 ance; perhaps we shall end by making friends. It 
 will be easy to me; if you cannot succeed as well, 
 it will never be too late to make some arrange- 
 ment, and you will always find me inclined to ac- 
 commodate you in whatever way suits your con- 
 venience." 
 
 " Sir," replied Bernard haughtily, " I want 
 neither your acquaintance nor your friendship. Be- 
 tween you and me there is nothing in common 
 nothing in common could exist. We do not serve 
 the same God, we do not worship at the same altar. 
 You hate what I adore, I adore what you hate. I 
 hate your party, your caste, your opinions. I hate 
 you, personally. We should sleep badly under the 
 same roof. You say that you will always be ready to 
 make any arrangement that suits my convenience. I 
 want none of your favours; do not expect any from 
 me. I know of but one arrangement possible be- 
 tween us: it is that provided for by the law. You 
 are only here as the donee. The donor, having dis- 
 posed of his goods only in the conviction that his son 
 was dead (as proved by the act of donation) then, 
 since I am alive, you are no longer at home here, 
 and I am." 
 
 " That is the question," hummed M. de la Sei- 
 123
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 gliere, summing up his knowledge of Shakespeare in 
 these words. 
 
 "Ah!" cried Mme. de Vaubert with the melan- 
 choly of disappointed hopes, " you are not Bernard, 
 you are not the son of our old friend." 
 
 " Mme. la Baronne," replied the young man curt- 
 ly, " I am only a soldier. My youth began in camp; 
 it ended with savages, in the midst of arid plains. 
 Battle-fields and the ice-bound huts of the north 
 have till now been the drawing-rooms that I have fre- 
 quented. I know nothing of the world; two days 
 ago I did not even suspect its frauds and perfidies. 
 My nature is to believe without effort in honour, 
 truth, devotion, loyalty all the fine and elevated in- 
 stincts of the soul. Well, albeit my indignant heart 
 still revolts at the idea that trickery, astuteness, and 
 duplicity can be pushed so far, madame, I do not be- 
 lieve in your sincerity." 
 
 " Well, well, sir! " exclaimed Mme. de Vaubert, 
 " you are not the first loyal heart that has yielded to 
 the suggestions of the evil-minded, and seen its sa- 
 cred beliefs withered by calumny; but surely, before 
 you decide on hatred, you must be positive that you 
 cannot, and ought not to, love." 
 
 " See here, madame," said Bernard, to put an end 
 to the scene, " you had best understand that the more 
 subtlety you employ, the less you will convince me. 
 I can now understand how my poor father came to 
 
 124
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 be taken in so many snares; there were even mo- 
 ments in which you frightened me." 
 
 " I am highly flattered," exclaimed Mme. de 
 Vaubert, laughing; " you would never have confessed 
 so much of the enemy's bullets and the foreign bayo- 
 nets." 
 
 " Yes, yes," added the marquis, " we all know 
 that you are a hero." 
 
 " A volunteer at eighteen," said the baronne. 
 
 " Lieutenant of hussars at nineteen," said the 
 marquis. 
 
 " Major three years later." 
 | " Distinguished by the Emperor at Wagram." 
 
 " Decorated by the hand of that great man after 
 the affair at Volontina," cried Mme. de Vaubert. 
 
 " Ah, it is undeniable," added the marquis, bury- 
 ing his hands resolutely into his breeches pockets, 
 " one must admit that they were fine fellows." 
 
 " Enough, enough," said Bernard, in momentary 
 confusion. " M. le Marquis, I give you a week to 
 evacuate the place. I hope, for the sake of your 
 reputation as a gentleman, that you will not put me 
 under the painful necessity of appealing to the in- 
 tervention of justice." 
 
 " Well, I'm blessed if I don't like this boy! " cried 
 the marquis frankly, carried away in spite of himself 
 by his amiable and volatile nature, while Mme. de 
 Vaubert, seeing he was on the right track, let go 
 
 125
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 the helm, and let him plunge about as he liked. 
 " I'entrc-saint-gris, the boy pleases me! Mme. la 
 Baronne, I protest that he is charming. Young 
 man, you will stay here. We will hate each other, 
 we will curse, we will go to law, we will make the 
 devil of a row, but, vive Dieu, we will not separate. 
 You know the story of the two hostile frigates, which 
 met in mid-ocean? One had no powder, so the other 
 supplied it; and after two hours' reciprocal cannon- 
 ade, the two vessels went down side by side. We will 
 do the same. You have arrived from Siberia; I pre- 
 smue that when the Tartars let you go they did not 
 load you with rubles, for fear of delaying your steps 
 and prolonging your march. You want powder; I 
 will supply you. I promise you an agreeable life. 
 While our attorneys, our advocates, and our lawyers 
 are firing off bombs and shells, we will hunt the fox, 
 we will live a jolly life, we will drink the wine of our 
 cellars. I shall be your guest, you will be mine. 
 Since no well-conducted suit need last less than twen- 
 ty years, we shall have leisure to make acquaintance 
 and to appreciate each other. We may even take a 
 mutual liking, and on the day that our chateau, 
 park, woods, fields, meadows, farms, and metairies 
 pass from us to defray the costs of justice, on that 
 day who knows? we shall perhaps fall into each 
 other's arms." 
 
 " M. le Marquis," returned Bernard, who could 
 126
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 not help smiling, " I am glad to see that you take 
 matters with a light heart; do you, in your turn, un- 
 derstand that I take them more seriously. There is 
 no corner of these estates that my father has not 
 watered with his sweat and with his tears; it is not 
 fitting that I should turn them into the theatre of a 
 comedy." 
 
 With these words, after bowing frigidly, he 
 turned to the door. The marquis made a gesture 
 of resigned despair, and Mme. de Vaubert uttered a 
 cry like that of a lioness that sees her prey escaping 
 her. If Bernard had been carrying off the La Sei- 
 gliere estates in his pocket these two faces could not 
 have expressed greater consternation. One more 
 step and all would have been over. Bernard was 
 opening the door of the salon, when it opened of 
 itself, and Mile, de la Seigliere entered. 
 
 7 Vol. 7 I2 7
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 MLLE. DE LA SEIGLIERE came in, simply clad, but 
 royally adorned in her fair, pale beauty. Her hair, 
 which was twisted opulently round her head, framed 
 her face in plaits and tresses of gold, while her com- 
 plexion glowed with the animation of her walk and 
 the hot kisses of the sun. Her black eyes shone with 
 that gentle flame, the effulgence of virginal souls 
 that illuminates while it does not burn. A blue 
 sash, with floating ends, gathered in and confined 
 around her waist the thousand folds of a muslin 
 gown, in which her elegant and flexible body was en- 
 veloped. A pretty green shoe set off the aristocrat- 
 ic arch of her long and slender foot. A bouquet of 
 field flowers decorated the front of her girlish bodice. 
 After carelessly flinging on a chair her Tuscan hat, 
 her gray silk sunshade, and a bunch of wild roses she 
 had gathered on the hills, she ran, in graceful haste, 
 first to her father, whom she had not seen that day, 
 and then to Mme. de Vaubert, who embraced her 
 effusively. It was not for some moments, until she 
 escaped from the baronne's arms, that Helene ob- 
 served the presence of a stranger. Whether from 
 
 128
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 embarrassment, or curiosity, or because his soul and 
 senses were alike surprised, Bernard had remained 
 standing near the door, at the apparition of this love- 
 ly creature; he waited there, motionless and upright, 
 in dumb contemplation, asking himself, no doubt, 
 since when gazelles lived amicably with foxes, and 
 turtle-doves with vultures. A glance is as rapid as 
 lightning; thought is quicker still. In a flash, Mme. 
 de Vaubert had grasped the situation; her face 
 brightened, her brow grew clear. 
 
 " You do not recognise this gentleman? " asked 
 the marquis of his daughter. 
 
 After examining Bernard with a glance of uneasy 
 curiosity, Helene replied with a negative movement 
 of her fair head. 
 
 " And yet he is one of your friends," added the 
 old gentleman. 
 
 At a sign from her father, half troubled and half 
 smiling, Mile, de la Seigliere advanced towards Ber- 
 nard. When this man, who till now had seen no 
 revelation of grace or beauty, and whose youth, as 
 he said himself, had been spent in camps under sav- 
 age conditions, was approached by the beautiful, 
 graceful girl, with her candid forehead and smiling 
 lips, he who had twenty times awaited death without 
 flinching felt his heart give way, and his temples grew 
 moist with a cold sweat. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," he said in an altered voice, 
 129
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 " you see me for the first time. Nevertheless, if you 
 knew an unfortunate being whose name was Stamply 
 during his earthly life, I shall not be altogether a 
 stranger to you, for you have known my father." 
 
 At these words Helene looked at him with the 
 wide eyes of a frightened fawn; then she glanced al- 
 ternately at the marquis and at Mme. de Vaubert, 
 who, much moved, were contemplating the scene. 
 
 " It is little Bernard," said the marquis. 
 
 " Yes, dear child," added the baronne, " it is the 
 son of our good M. Stamply." 
 
 " Sir," said Mile, de la Seigliere at last with emo- 
 tion, " my father did well to ask me if I recognised 
 you. I have heard of you so often that it seems to 
 me now that I really ought to have known you. 
 You are alive! What joy for us! See, it makes me 
 tremble. And yet, glad as I am, I cannot think 
 without sadness of your father, who left this world 
 in the hope of finding you again in the next. So 
 heaven, too, has its griefs and its deceptions! Yes, 
 my father was right to say that you are one of my 
 frienus. You will be; won't you, sir? M. Stamply 
 loved me, and I loved him also. He was my old com- 
 panion. With him I used to talk about you; with 
 you, I can talk about him. Father, have they pre- 
 pared M. Bernard's rooms? For you are in your 
 own home here." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," cried the marquis. " And this 
 130
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 maniac would rather lodge under the bridge of the 
 Clain than live with us." 
 
 " Then, sir," said Helene in a tone of gentle re- 
 proach, " when I came in, you were on the point of 
 leaving; you were departing, flying from us. Hap- 
 pily that is quite out of the question." 
 
 "Out of the question!" cried the marquis. 
 " Obviously you don't know where he has come 
 from. As you see him, this gentleman has arrived 
 from Siberia. The vicinity of the Kalmucks has 
 made him critical in the quality of his social inter- 
 course and the choice of his friendships. One can 
 understand that we will not be too hard on him. 
 And, moreover, this young man hates us. It is not 
 his fault. Why does he hate us? He does not know; 
 neither do I ; but he hates us. The feeling is stronger 
 than he. One cannot master one's feelings." 
 
 " You hate us, sir! I loved your father, and you 
 hate mine! You hate me! Me! What have we done 
 to you? " asked Mile, de la Seigliere, in a voice that 
 would have softened an iron heart and disarmed the 
 anger of a Scythian. " Sir, we have not deserved 
 your hatred." 
 
 " What does that matter," said the marquis, " if 
 it is his vogue to hate us? Nature covers all manner 
 of tastes. He pretends that this parquet burns his 
 feet, that he would not be able to sleep a wink under 
 this roof. That comes of sleeping on reindeer skins
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 and living under six feet of snow. Nothing appeals 
 to you any more; everything seems flat and disen- 
 chanted." 
 
 In a rapid intuition, Helene thought she under- 
 stood what was passing in the heart and mind of the 
 young man. She divined that in restoring the prop- 
 erty of his masters, Stamply had despoiled his son, 
 and that the latter, victim to his father's probity, re- 
 fused out of pride to receive the price of it. Accord- 
 ingly, from delicacy as much as from duty, she re- 
 doubled her graceful insistence, even throwing off her 
 habitual reserve, to make Bernard forget whatever 
 in his position seemed painful, difficult, and perilous. 
 
 " Sir," she resumed in a tone of caressing author- 
 ity, " you must not go. Since you refuse to be our 
 guest, you will have to be our prisoner. How could 
 you imagine for a moment that we should allow you 
 to live anywhere except with us? What would peo- 
 ple think? What would our friends say? You 
 could not so distress us, at the same time insult our 
 reputation. Think, sir, that in this case there is 
 neither hospitality to offer nor hospitality to receive. 
 We owe too much to your father," added the ami- 
 able girl, who knew nothing at all about it, but in 
 the belief that Bernard was hesitating out of pride, 
 desired to smooth down his susceptibilities, and 
 make, as it were, a golden bridge for his wounded 
 feelings, " we owe too much to your father for 
 
 132
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 it to be possible that you could owe us anything 1 . 
 We have nothing to give you; we can but offer with 
 one hand what we have received with the other. 
 You must accept it, so as not to humiliate us." 
 
 "Accept it? He?" cried the marquis; "he will 
 take uncommon good care not to. Humiliate us? 
 That is just what he wants to do! You don't know 
 him; he would as soon cut his hand off as put it 
 into ours." 
 
 The young girl slipped her right hand out of her 
 glove and offered it cordially to Bernard. 
 
 " Is that true, sir? " she asked him. 
 
 When he felt this fine, warm, satiny skin between 
 his own fingers, that had grown brown with the ex- 
 ercise of war and hard in the labours of captivity, 
 Bernard turned pale, and trembled. His eyes be- 
 came dim, his legs gave way under him. He tried 
 to speak; his voice died away on his lips. 
 
 " You hate us? " said Helene. " But that is an 
 additional reason for staying. It is most important 
 to us that you should not hate us; our honour and 
 our glory are involved. You must first allow us to 
 try and teach you to know us. When we have suc- 
 ceeded, sir, you may go if you feel sufficiently cour- 
 ageous. But from now till then, I repeat that you 
 are in our power. You have been a prisoner in Rus- 
 sia for six years; you can surely be our captive for a 
 little time. Is the perspective of being loved so very 
 
 133
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 alarming? In the name of your father, who some- 
 times called me his child, you must stay; I wish it, 
 I demand it from you; if need be, I pray you, stay." 
 
 " She is charming," cried Mme. de Vaubert with 
 emotion, adding under her breath, " He is lost!" 
 
 And it was true. Bernard was lost. His vacil- 
 lations may be quickly summed up. Gangrened by 
 misfortune, justly irritated by the sharp deceptions 
 of his return, exasperated by public rumour, burn- 
 ing with all the passions and political ardour of the 
 time, hating the aristocrats by instinct, impatient to 
 revenge his father, he presented himself at the Cha- 
 teau de la Seigliere with a hatred based upon his 
 rights, his heart and head filled with storm and tem- 
 pest, expecting to encounter a haughty resistance; 
 foreseeing arrogant pretensions, insolent prejudices, 
 proud disdain, and preparing to beat it all down by 
 the hurricane of his anger. 
 
 At the outset his efforts missed fire, his hatred 
 aborted, his anger miscarried. The tempest that 
 looked for oaks that it could blast found only bend- 
 ing reeds, and lost itself amid a jungle of grasses; 
 the thunder-bolt that should leap from rock to rock, 
 and from echo to echo, died away noiselessly in the 
 valley and awakened only gentle melodies. Bernard 
 sought his enemies; he found only flatterers. He 
 attempted to fire a broadside from a greater distance; 
 his bullets came back to him as sugar-plums. Esca- 
 
 134
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 ping, however, from the toils of the wily Armida, he 
 was making good his retreat, after signifying his in- 
 exorable resolution, when another enchantress, who 
 was the more seductive in that she did not try to be- 
 guile him, made her appearance. Irresistible power, 
 eternal and ever victorious charm, divine eloquence 
 of youth and beauty! She had but to appear, and 
 Bernard was shaken. She smiled, and Bernard was 
 disarmed. She was a creature whom God himself 
 would look upon and love. Candour breathed from 
 her forehead, sincerity from her mouth; beneath her 
 limpid gaze her expanded soul lay like some beauti- 
 ful flower under the transparency of water. No un- 
 truth had ever withered those lips, no guile had ever 
 warped the rays from those eyes. She spoke, and 
 without knowing it the angel became the accomplice 
 of the devil. She not only said nothing to contra- 
 dict, but everything to confirm, what had previously 
 taken place; no word was uttered by Helene that did 
 not bear out something said by Mme. de Vaubert. 
 Truth has convincing accents that the most defiant 
 cannot refuse to recognise. It is truth, and truth in- 
 deed, that speaks in Helene's voice; and yet, if He- 
 lene is sincere, Mme. de Vaubert in turn must be 
 sincere also. Bernard hesitated. If, after all, these 
 were noble hearts defamed by calumny? If it had 
 pleased his father to buy some few years of joy, of 
 peace and happiness, at the price of all his fortune, 
 
 135
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 should Bernard dare to complain of this? Could he 
 dare to revoke a voluntary and spontaneous gift le- 
 gitimized by gratitude? Could he pitilessly hunt out 
 the people to whom his father owed it that he had 
 been able to live surrounded by kindness and to die 
 in friendly arms? 
 
 He had got to this point in his reflections, though 
 in his mind they were less clear, less definite and 
 precise, than we have stated them, when Mme. de 
 Vaubert, who had approached, took advantage of a 
 moment when Mile, de la Seigliere was exchanging 
 a few words with the marquis, to say to him: 
 
 " Well, sir, you now know all the authors of those 
 cowardly manoeuvres which you were denouncing a 
 little while ago. Why do you not overwhelm this 
 child as well with your scorn and anger? You can 
 see how deeply she is steeped in the infamous plot, 
 and how, after working your father's ruin, she co- 
 operated with us in letting him die of sorrow." 
 
 At these words of Mme. de Vaubert, Bernard 
 shuddered as though he had felt a serpent writhing 
 round his legs, but Mile, de la Seigliere came back 
 to him almost at the same moment, and said: 
 
 " Sir, the death of your father has left me a sacred 
 duty to discharge towards you. I assisted him at the 
 supreme moment ; I received his last farewells, I 
 heard his parting sigh. It is a sacred deposit that 
 should, as it were, pass from my heart to yours. 
 
 136
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 Come. It may solace you to speak of him who is 
 no more within those alleys that he loved, and which 
 are still filled with his memories." 
 
 Saying this, Mile, de la Seigliere put her hand on 
 Bernard's arm and led him away Hike a child. When 
 they had gone, the marquis flung himself into a chair, 
 and, freed at last from self-restraint, gave vent to the 
 torrent of anger and resentment that had been sti- 
 fling him for an hour past. Two adverse sentiments 
 were battling fiercely within him, conquered and 
 conquering alternately egoism and pride of race. 
 Egoism was decidedly the stronger; but it could not 
 triumph without cries of a trapped badger from 
 routed pride. 
 
 In Bernard's presence, egoism had got the upper 
 hand; Bernard gone, malignant pride rebounded vio- 
 lently from its rival's grasp and bravely maintained 
 the upper hand. There was a fresh scene of revolt 
 and anger, all inconceivably puerile, though charm- 
 ing; it was like the petulant grace of a runaway colt, 
 that clears hedges and barriers, and bounds over the 
 green pastures. Mme. de Vaubert had to make fresh 
 efforts to bridle him, bring him back to the starting- 
 point, and keep him on the real course. 
 
 " Come, marquis," she said, after listening to him 
 for some time with smiling pity, " let be with these 
 childish follies. You may rebel as much as you like, 
 you will not alter the facts that are accomplished. 
 
 137
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 What is done is done. To will the contrary would 
 be to rob God Almighty of his power." 
 
 "What!" cried the marquis; "a fellow whose 
 father cultivated my fields, and whose mother 
 brought the milk of her cows up here every morn- 
 ing, under my eyes, for ten years, is to come and in- 
 sult me in my own house, and I am not to say a 
 word! Not only must I forbear to have him flung 
 out of the door by my lackeys, but I am to lodge 
 him, to entertain him, to smile on him, and to see my 
 daughter hanging on his arm! A ragamuffin who 
 would have deemed himself too happy thirty years 
 ago to groom my horses and take them down to 
 the pond! Did you hear the emphasis with which 
 this cowherd's son referred to the sweat of his father? 
 When they have said that, they have said all. The 
 sweat of the people! The sweat of their fathers! 
 Impertinent fools! As if their fathers had invented 
 sweat and labour! Do they suppose our fathers have 
 not sweated also? Do they suppose one sweated less 
 under the hauberk than under the smock? It makes 
 me furious, Mme. la Baronne, to see the pretensions 
 of this mob, who imagine that they alone have to 
 work and suffer, while the great families have only 
 to hold out their hands for lands and chateaus to 
 drop into them. What do you think of this hussar 
 who turns up to claim an estate worth a million, on 
 the pretext that his father sweated for it? And these 
 
 138
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 people reproach us for pride and ancestral vanity! 
 This fellow insolently claims the price of his fa- 
 ther's sweat, and is astonished because I cling to 
 the price of the blood shed by twenty of my an- 
 cestors." 
 
 " Eh, mon Dieu! marquis, you are right a hun- 
 dred times over," replied Mme. de Vaubert. " You 
 have right on your side. Who can deny it, or con- 
 test it? Unluckily this hussar has the law on his, the 
 petty, tiresome, galling in a word, the bourgeois- 
 law. I repeat once more, you are no longer at home 
 here, and this fellow is at home; that is what you 
 have got to try and understand." 
 
 " Well, then, Mme. la Baronne," cried M. de la 
 Seigliere, " if this is so, better shame than ruin; it is 
 better to abdicate one's fortune than one's honour. 
 Exile has no terrors for me. I know the road, I will 
 set out; I will expatriate myself for the last time. I 
 shall lose my property, but I shall keep my name un- 
 blemished. My vengeance is prompt; there will be 
 no La Seiglieres left in France." 
 
 " Well, my poor marquis, France will do without 
 you." 
 
 " Ventre-saint-gris! Mme. la Baronne," cried the 
 marquis, as red as a poppy, " do you know what 
 his Majesty King Louis XIV said one day at 
 his private levee, when he caught sight of my 
 great-great-grandfather among the gentlemen oi 
 
 139
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 his court? ' Marquis de la Seigliere,' said King 
 Louis, tapping him affectionately on the shoul- 
 der " 
 
 " Marquis de la Seigliere, I tell you I that you 
 shall not go," cried Mme. de Vaubert firmly. " You 
 shall not fail in all you owe to our ancestors, to your 
 daughter, in what you owe to yourself. You shall 
 not abandon the inheritance of your fathers like a 
 coward. You shall stay, precisely because your hon- 
 our is involved in your doing so. Besides which, no 
 one goes into exile at your age. It was all very well 
 in youth, when we had the future, and a long hope 
 before us. And why should we go? " she added val- 
 iantly. " Since when does one raise the siege when 
 the place is on the point of capitulating. Since when 
 does one sound the retreat when one is sure of vic- 
 tory? Since when does one throw up the game when 
 one is on the point of winning it? We shall conquer. 
 Do you not feel it? Only let Bernard pass the night 
 in the chateau, and to-morrow I will answer for the 
 rest." 
 
 At this moment the baronne, who was sitting in 
 the recess of the window, caught sight of her son in 
 the valley of the Gain, coming in the direction of the 
 park gates. Leaving the marquis to his reflections, 
 she escaped with ttye fleetness of a doe, intercepted 
 Raoul at the gate, took him back to the Castel de 
 Vaubert, and found a plausible pretext for sending 
 
 140
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 him out to dine and spend the evening at a neigh- 
 bouring chateau. 
 
 Meamtime Helene and Bernard were walking 
 slowly along, the young girl hanging on the 
 young man's arm he timid and trembling, she re- 
 doubling her graces and attractions. Na'ive grace, 
 facile seduction! She related with touching sim- 
 plicity the history of the last two years of old Stam- 
 ply's life. 
 
 She told how they had come by degrees to know 
 and love each other; she spoke of their walks, their 
 excursions, their mutual confidences, and also of the 
 place Bernard had taken in their intercourse. Ber- 
 nard listened in silence; and as he listened, he felt 
 Helene's light and supple body on his arm, he looked 
 at her little feet, moving in step with his, he inhaled 
 her breath, sweeter than the scents of autumn, he 
 heard the rustle of her gown, more gentle than the 
 sound of wind amid the branches. Already these 
 soothing influences were at work upon him; like 
 those tall rods along which the lightning escapes and 
 is dissipated, Helene discharged the electric fluids of 
 his hate and anger. In vain he still tried to resist 
 and to defy her; like the knight whose armour had 
 been undone, he felt some portion of his rancour and 
 prejudice fall off at every step. As they talked, they 
 had come round upon the chateau. The day was 
 drawing to a close; the declining sun was length- 
 
 141
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 ening out the shadows of the oaks and poplars. At 
 the foot of the steps Bernard was preparing to take 
 leave of Mile, de la Seigliere, when she, without let- 
 ting go his arm, drew him gently into the salon, 
 where Mme. de Vaubert had already rejoined the 
 marquis, dreading the result of leaving him to his 
 own inspirations. 
 
 " You are agitated, sir," she said at once, ad- 
 dressing Bernard. " How could it be otherwise? 
 This park was, as it were, the cradle of your happy 
 youth. As a child, you played on these lawns; under 
 these shady trees you dreamed your first dreams of 
 life and glory. And so, too, latterly that was your 
 dear father's favourite walk, as though he expected 
 to see you coming at each turn of the alley." 
 
 " I can see him still," said the marquis, " passing 
 along the bowling-green; he looked like a patriarch, 
 with his white hair, his blue woollen stockings, his 
 fustian waistcoat, and his velvet breeches." 
 
 " He was indeed a patriarch," added Mme. de 
 Vaubert unctuously. 
 
 " On my faith," cried the marquis, " patriarch or 
 not, he was a worthy man! " 
 
 "So good! So simple! So charming!" con- 
 tinued Mme. de Vaubert. 
 
 "And no fool!" exclaimed the marquis. "For 
 all his good-nature, he had a way of turning things 
 that surprised people." 
 
 142
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 "As soon as he appeared, people used to press 
 round and make a circle to listen to him." 
 
 " He was a philosopher. As he talked, one used 
 to ask where he had got hold of the things he was 
 saying." 
 
 " He found them in his beautiful soul," said Mme. 
 de Vaubert. 
 
 " And what a genial temper! " cried the marquis, 
 carried away in spite of himself by the current; " al- 
 ways gay, always pleased, always his little joke! " 
 
 " Yes," pursued Mme. de Vaubert, " with us he 
 regained all his humour, his natural gaiety, and the 
 fresh sallies of a happy temper. He had been 
 changed for a long time by the rust of isolation, but 
 in the peace of family life his amiable qualities re- 
 covered their old brilliancy and native freshness. 
 He was never tired of repeating that we had taken 
 thirty years off his age. In his naive metaphors, he 
 compared himself to an old trunk throwing up new 
 shoots." 
 
 " Indeed he was a gentle nature that one could 
 not know without loving it," said Helene, ascribing 
 to her father and the baronne the delicacies of her 
 own mind and character, in order to account for their 
 assiduous attention to Bernard. 
 
 " Ah dame," continued the baronne, " how he 
 adored the Emperor! It would not have been wise 
 to contradict him on that subject. What heat, what 
 
 143
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 enthusiasm, each time he talked of that great man! 
 He often talked of him, and we used to listen with 
 the greatest pleasure." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said the marquis, " he talked about 
 him often, indeed one might say he talked about 
 him very often. But there," he added, confounded 
 by a look from Mme. de Vaubert, and recovering 
 himself promptly, " it pleased the worthy man, and 
 that was all to our good. Vive Dieu, M. Bernard, 
 your father may flatter himself up there that he pro- 
 cured us some very agreeable moments here below." 
 
 The conversation had got to this point, and Ber- 
 nard had not been able to put in a word, when a 
 lackey came to say that dinner was on the table. M. 
 de la Seigliere gave his arm to the baronne, Helene 
 took that of the young man, and all four went into 
 the dining-room. It all happened so promptly, so 
 naturally, that Bernard only found out what he had 
 done when he saw himself seated, as if by magic, close 
 to Helene, at the table of the marquis. M. de la 
 Seigliere had not even invited him to stay; and if 
 Bernard had been a guest and inmate of six months' 
 standing, the thing could not have been done with 
 less form or ceremony. He wanted to get up and 
 make his escape, but the young lady said: " That was 
 long your father's place; in future it will be yours." 
 
 "We make no change," said the marquis; "only 
 there will be one child more in the house." 
 
 144
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 "Touching unity! charming reunion!" mur- 
 mured Mme. de Vaubert. 
 
 Not knowing if he were awake or the sport of a 
 dream, Bernard hastily unfolded his napkin, and sat 
 riveted on his chair. 
 
 From the very first course, the marquis and Mme. 
 de Vaubert talked away as if they were unconscious 
 of the presence of an extra guest, exactly as if Ber- 
 nard had not been there, or rather, as if he had always 
 been a member of the family. Bernard was silent, hard- 
 ly touching his glass with his lips, and scarcely tasting 
 the dishes served to him. No one worried him; they 
 appeared not to notice his gloomy and thoughtful 
 attitude. As at the beginning of every meal, the con- 
 versation turned at first upon indifferent matters; a 
 few words were interchanged here and there, no allu- 
 sions being made to the present situation; at most, 
 from time to time there was some indirect allusion 
 to the late excellent M. Stamply. From banalities 
 and trivialities they naturally got on to the politics of 
 the day. The marquis let fall certain expressions at 
 which Bernard pricked up his ears; a few quips were 
 launched on either hand; in short, the discussion was 
 soon in full swing. Mme. de Vaubert promptly took 
 the reins, and never did Automedon driving a quad- 
 riga and raising the Olympic dust show more dex- 
 terity than the baronne on this occasion. The course 
 was difficult, beset with pitfalls, bristling with obsta- 
 
 145
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 cles, full of fences and ruts; at first set off, the mar- 
 quis ran the risk of breaking his neck. She managed 
 to convert it into a road as straight, as firm, and as 
 well paved as the avenue of a royal chateau; she got 
 round every obstacle, curbed the giddy impetuosity 
 of the marquis, spurred Bernard on without irrita- 
 ting him, sent them off one after the other, trotting, 
 galloping, stepping high; then, after letting them 
 manoeuvre, pirouette, prance, and caracole, always 
 in such fashion as to leave Bernard with the honours 
 of the day, she picked up her reins, pulled on the 
 double bit, and brought them both back fraternally 
 to the point they started from. Bernard insensibly 
 began to like the game. Warmed by the exercise, 
 carried along in spite of himself by the good-humour 
 of the marquis, he unstiffened and grew more genial, 
 till at last, when the old gentleman said to him at 
 dessert, as he filled his glass: "This, sir, is a wine 
 your father did not despise; let us empty our glasses 
 to his memory, and to your safe return," Bernard 
 mechanically raised his glass, and clinked it with that 
 held out by the marquis. 
 
 The meal over, they rose from table and took a 
 turn in the park. The evening was fine. Helene 
 and Bernard walked together, preceded by the mar- 
 quis and the baronne, who were talking, their voices 
 almost lost in the splash of the fountain and the 
 murmur of the foliage. The young couple were 
 
 146
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 silent, and, as it were, absorbed in the rustling of the 
 dry leaves through which they were walking. When 
 the marquis and his companion disappeared at the 
 turn of an alley, the pair might for a moment have 
 thought themselves alone in the deserted park, in 
 the dim starlight. Purer and more serene than the 
 azure canopy above their heads, Mile, de la Seigliere 
 experienced no emotion, and went her way with a 
 slow, dreaming, absent step, while Bernard, paler 
 than the moon that was rising behind the alders, and 
 trembling more than the blades of grass upon the 
 night wind, was intoxicated, unaware, with the first 
 thoughts of love that had agitated his heart. 
 
 When they returned to the salon the conversa- 
 tion once more became general around one of the 
 cheery fires that brighten the autumn evenings. 
 The vine-logs crackled on the hearth; the breezes, 
 laden with odours from the woods, played round 
 the curtains of the open windows. Seated comfort- 
 ably in an arm-chair, not far from Helene, who was 
 busy, near the lamp, with her tapestry, Bernard 
 yielded, without conscious reflection, to the charm 
 of the domestic scene. From time to time the mar- 
 quis rose, and after kissing his daughter's forehead, 
 sat down again. At other times it was the amiable 
 girl who looked up affectionately at her father. Ber- 
 nard forgot himself in contemplating their simple 
 happiness. 
 
 147
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seiglifere 
 
 Soon, however, they wanted to hear the story of 
 his captivity; M. de la Seigliere and his daughter 
 joined their entreaties to those of the baronne. It 
 is soothing to talk of one's self, and of the ills one 
 has endured, more particularly after a good dinner, 
 with the added stimulus of a Dido or a Desdemona 
 hanging, palpitating and curious, on one's lips, with 
 glances of emotion and heaving breast. Bernard fell 
 the more easily into the snare inasmuch as Helene, 
 without suspecting it, played the part of the poor 
 decoy set to entice the feathered people into the 
 fow!er's net. First, he related the affair at the Mos- 
 kova. He sketched in sweeping outlines the plan of 
 the locality, the arrangement of the ground, the rela- 
 tive disposition of the two armies; then he described 
 the battle. He began in a serious, earnest tone; but 
 soon, excited by his memories, carried away by his 
 own words as on wings of flame, his eyes lit up, and 
 his voice rang out like a clarion. They smelt the 
 powder, heard the whistling of the bullets, saw the 
 battalions move to the attack against cross-fires, up 
 to the moment when he was struck down himself 
 at the head of his squadron and fell lifeless under the 
 horses' feet on ground already thick with corpses. 
 As he spoke, he was magnificent; Mile, de la Sei- 
 gliere let fall her needle as she listened in breathless 
 attention, contemplating Bernard with artless ad- 
 miration. 
 
 148
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 " Tis a poet relating the exploits of a hero!" 
 cried Mme. de Vaubert with enthusiasm. 
 
 " Sir," added the marquis, " you may congratu- 
 late yourself on having seen death at close quarters. 
 What a battle! I shall dream of it all night. Evi- 
 dently you hit hard, but then what the devil was your 
 Emperor doing out in that confounded Russia? " 
 
 " He had his idea," replied Bernard haughtily; 
 " that was not our business." 
 
 Afterward he told them how he had waked up 
 to find himself a prisoner, and how from prisoner he 
 had become a slave. He related simply, without 
 emphasis or exaggeration, how he had spent six 
 years of servitude in the depths of Siberia, in the 
 midst of savage tribes, who were even more savage, 
 more cruel, more pitiless than their skies and climate; 
 he told them of all he had endured hunger, cold, 
 hard labour, barbarous treatment he told it all; and 
 more than once during this fateful recital a furtive 
 tear stole under Helene's eyelids, shone like a drop 
 of dew upon her drooping lashes, and rolled as a 
 liquid pearl upon the tapestry she had taken up again, 
 doubtless to hide her emotion. 
 
 "Noble youth!" said Mme. de Vaubert, with 
 her handkerchief to her eyes. " Was that the price 
 of your heroic courage? " 
 
 " Ventre-saint-gris, sir! " said the marquis. " You 
 must be doubled up with rheumatism." 
 
 149
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 " Thus is all glory expiated," continued the ba- 
 ronne in a tone of melancholy; " thus, too often, the 
 laurel branch is changed into the martyr's crown. 
 My poor young friend, how you have suffered! " she 
 added, pressing his hand with a gesture of profound 
 sympathy. 
 
 " Sir," said the marquis, " I predict that in your 
 old age you will be eaten up with gout." 
 
 " After such troubles and miseries," cried Mme. 
 de Vaubert, " it must be sweet to rest in the bosom 
 of an affectionate family, surrounded with friendly 
 faces, supported by faithful hearts. Happy the exile 
 who, on returning to his native soil, has not found 
 his court-yard silent, his house empty, his hearth 
 cold and solitary." 
 
 "A Siberian gout!" cried the marquis, slapping 
 his leg. " Here is a variety which has cost me dear, 
 though it only came from Germany. I pity you, sir. 
 A Siberian gout! You have not done with those 
 Cossacks yet." 
 
 Mme. de Vaubert's last words had suddenly re- 
 called the young man to the exigencies of his posi- 
 tion. Eleven o'clock had just struck on the tor- 
 toise-shell time-piece, inlaid with copper, which or- 
 namented the marble chimney-shelf. Ashamed of 
 his vacillation, Bernard rose, and this time was going 
 to retire definitely, not knowing what to decide, but 
 feeling still, in the midst of his uncertainty, that this
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 was no place for him, when, the marquis having 
 pulled a moire ribbon that hung beside the mirror, 
 the door of the salon opened, and a lackey appeared 
 on the threshold, armed with a two-branched cande- 
 labrum with lighted candles. 
 
 " Germain/' said the marquis, " show this gentle- 
 man his rooms. They are the same," he added, turn- 
 ing to Bernard, " that your father occupied for so 
 long." 
 
 " It is really too bad of us, sir," exclaimed the 
 baronne, " to have kept you up so late. We ought 
 to have remembered that you needed sleep; but we 
 were so glad to see you and so charmed with all you 
 have been telling us. You must forgive the indis- 
 cretion that had no excuse save the charm of all you 
 had to say." 
 
 " Pleasant dreams, sir," said the marquis; " ten 
 hours' sleep will see you over your fatigues. To- 
 morrow, as soon as we rise, we will beat the heath 
 and bag a few young rabbits. You should like this 
 sport; it is the reflection of war." 
 
 " Sir," said Mile, de la Seigliere, who was still 
 agitated, " do not -forget, in the first place, that you 
 are at home; in the second, that you are among 
 friends who will make it as much a pleasure as a 
 duty to heal your heart, and to efface even the 
 memory of so many evil days. My father will try 
 to make up to you for the affection of the father 
 
 8 VoL; '5*
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 you have lost, and I, if you will, shall be your 
 sister." 
 
 " If you like hunting," cried the marquis, " I can 
 promise you royal sport." 
 
 " Imperial even," interrupted the baronne, 
 
 " Yes," repeated the marquis, " imperial. We 
 will hunt on foot, we will go a-coursing, we will hunt 
 with farriers, we will hunt with hounds. Vive Dieul 
 if you treat the foxes like the Austrians, and . the 
 badgers like the Russians, I pity the inhabitants of 
 our woods." 
 
 " I hope, sir," added Mme. de Vaubert, " that I 
 shall often have the pleasure of receiving you at my 
 little manor. Your worthy father, who honoured me 
 with his friendship, enjoyed my table and my hearth. 
 Come and talk of him in the place where he has 
 so often talked of you." 
 
 " Well, M. Bernard, good-night and sleep well," 
 said the marquis, waving his hand; " may your father 
 send you sweet dreams from above." 
 
 " Good-bye, M. Bernard," repeated the baronne, 
 with an affectionate smile; "sleep on the thought 
 that you are no longer alone in the world." 
 
 " Till to-morrow, M. Bernard," said Helene in 
 her turn. " That is what your good father and I used 
 always to say when we parted for the night." 
 
 Dazzled, dizzy, overwhelmed, fascinated, ensnared, 
 hemmed in on all sides, Bernard made a gesture of 
 
 152
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 resignation; then, after bowing respectfully to Mile, 
 de la Seigliere, he left the room, preceded by Ger- 
 main, who conducted him into the richest and most 
 sumptuous apartment of the chateau. It was, in 
 fact, that which the poor " old rogue " had inhabited 
 for a white before they relegated him like a leper to 
 the most retired and isolated part of the building; 
 only it had been much embellished since then, and 
 on this particular day they had taken pains to fit it 
 for the occasion. When Bernard entered, the flame 
 from the hearth was playing on the gilded mouldings 
 of the ceiling, and on the copper rods that framed 
 and held the hangings of sombre green velvet. An 
 Aubusson carpet strewed the parquet with such fresh 
 and brilliant flowers that you would have said they 
 had been newly gathered in the surrounding mead- 
 ows and scattered by fairy hands. Bernard, who for 
 ten years past had only slept on camp-beds, on snow, 
 on wolf-skins, and under the sheets of any pot-house, 
 could not resist a sense of indescribable satisfaction 
 on perceiving, under the swelling eider-down, the 
 fine white linen of a bed that stood like the throne 
 of slumber at the end of an alcove, mysteriously con- 
 structed of the same stuff as the hangings. All the 
 requirements of luxury, all the elegances, all the 
 conveniences of life, were collected round him, and 
 seemed to smile on him. An ingenious solicitude 
 had foreseen everything, calculated everything, 
 
 153
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 guessed at everything. There are delicacies of hos- 
 pitality that rarely fail among the poor, but are not 
 always provided by more magnificent hosts; here 
 nothing was wanting: neither wit, nor grace, nor 
 coquetry, which is rarer than magnificence. When 
 Germain had retired, after setting everything ready 
 for his new master's toilet, Bernard took a childish 
 pleasure in examining and touching the thousand 
 little odds and ends of the toilet, whose use he had 
 forgotten. We should not dare, for instance, to tell 
 how much he relished the sight of the flasks of eau 
 de Portugal and the scent of the perfumed soaps. 
 One needs to spend six years with the Tartars to 
 appreciate these puerilities. On either side of the 
 mirror, half hidden by tufts of asters, dahlias, and 
 full-blown chrysanthemums in bulging Japanese 
 vases, shone daggers, inlaid pistols, diamonds, and 
 soldiers' ornaments. At one corner of the chimney- 
 piece a priceless cup overflowed with gold pieces, 
 as if they had been forgotten there. Bernard paused 
 neither at the gold nor at the flowers, nor even at 
 the arms. As he wandered round the room he fell 
 into an ecstasy before a silver tray laden with cigars 
 which Mme. de Vaubert had fetched from the town 
 from an old sea-captain of her acquaintance a hos- 
 pitable attention which would be a matter of course 
 to-day, but was then a stroke of audacious genius. 
 He took one, lit it at the flame of a candle; then, 
 
 154
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 stretched at his ease in a long chair, wrapped in a 
 cashmere dressing-gown, his feet in Turkish slippers, 
 he began to think of his father, of his strange destiny, 
 of the unexpected turn of the day's events, of the 
 part that remained to him to choose. Worn out 
 with fatigue, his head burning, his eyelids heavy, his 
 ideas soon became troubled and confused. In this 
 drowsy state, which might be termed the twilight of 
 the intelligence, he seemed to see fantastic groups 
 rising and forming in the smoke of his cigar above his 
 head. Now it was his old father and mother mount- 
 ing up to heaven on a cloud; now his Emperor, sit- 
 ting on a rock, with his arms crossed upon his breast; 
 now the marquis and the baronne, hand in hand, 
 dancing a saraband; again, and most often, a grace- 
 ful and gracious figure that leaned towards him with 
 a smile. When his cigar was finished he threw him- 
 self on to the bed, rolled under the eider-down, and 
 went off in a profound slumber. 
 
 Whether from fatigue, or because she wanted to 
 be alone with her thoughts, Mile, de la Seigliere 
 quitted the salon about the same time as Bernard. 
 Left together by the fireside, the baronne and the 
 marquis looked at one another for a moment in si- 
 lence. 
 
 " Well, marquis," at last said the baronne, " little 
 Bernard is a fine fellow. His father reeked of the 
 stable, the son reeks of the barrack." 
 
 155
 
 . Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 "Brute!" cried the marquis, at the last stage 
 of exasperation; "I thought he would never have 
 done with his battle of the Moskova! Battle of the 
 Moskova, indeed! What sort of an affair might that 
 be? What was it? who knows about it? who talks 
 of it? I have never been in war, but if I had, by 
 the sword of my ancestors, madame, that would have 
 been another pair of shoes. Every one should have 
 stayed there; not even a pensioner should have come 
 back. Battle of the Moskova! And this puppy, his 
 airs of a Caesar or an Alexander! These are our 
 heroes! these are the famous battles which M. Bona- 
 parte made so much fuss about, and which the ene- 
 mies of the monarchy crack up so loudly! They 
 turn out to be merely little hygienic and sanitary 
 exercises; the dead pick themselves up, and the slain 
 are all the better for it. Vive Dieu! When we are 
 in it we things are very different; when a gentle- 
 man falls, he does not get up again. But if one were 
 only a clodhopper, a plebeian, a Stamply, and one 
 were killed in the service of France, que diable! one 
 would at least have the decency not to come and 
 talk about it to other people. If he had an ounce 
 of heart, this scapegrace would blush to find himself 
 still alive; he would go off and fling himself head 
 first into the river." 
 
 " What can you expect, marquis? Those people 
 have no manners," said Mme. de Vaubert, smiling. 
 
 156
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 " Well, let him live then, but let him have the 
 decency to hide himself. ' Bury your life,' said the 
 sage. If he loved glory, as he pretends, would he 
 not have preferred to remain dead on the field of 
 honour sooner than drag his bones and his shame 
 and his misery back here? Why didn't he stay in 
 Siberia? He was all right there; he was accustomed 
 to it. This soft gentleman complains of the climate; 
 you would suppose he had been born in cotton-wool 
 and brought up in a hot-house. The Cossacks are 
 a fine race, with gentle, hospitable manners. He calls 
 them savages. Be civil to these ragamuffins! Save 
 their lives! Take them into your house! Make their 
 existence pleasant! Here's all the gratitude you get! 
 They treat you like a cannibal. I'll wager, what- 
 ever he may say, that he was as happy as a fighting 
 cock, but these rascals never know when they are 
 well off. And then they come and talk to you about 
 country, and liberty, and native soil, and paternal 
 roof smoking on the horizon big words which they 
 hold up as a screen for their disorder and miscon- 
 duct." 
 
 " Country, liberty, paternal roof, all seasoned 
 with an inheritance of a million; one must admit," 
 observed Mme. de Vaubert, " that without being 
 exactly a swaggerer, one might quit the flowery 
 banks of the Don and the intimacy of the Bashkirs 
 for less than that." 
 
 157
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 "An inheritance of a million!" exclaimed the 
 marquis. " But where the deuce is he going to get 
 it from? " 
 
 " From your pocket," replied the baronne, an- 
 noyed at having perpetually to run after him to 
 bring him back to the practical side of the question. 
 
 " Oh, indeed! " cried M. de la Seigliere, " but our 
 Bernard is a dangerous man at this rate. If he 
 pushes me to extremities, Mme. la Baronne, there 
 is no saying what I may be capable of. I might 
 even drag him into court! " 
 
 " Good! " said the baronne; " then you will save 
 him the trouble of dragging you there. For Heaven's 
 sake, marquis, don't let us begin all over again! The 
 facts are here, and pressing you close on all sides. 
 Since you cannot escape them, have the pluck to 
 look them in the face. What is there at this stage 
 of the affair to give you so much alarm? Bernard 
 is caged, the lion is muzzled you have got your 
 prey." 
 
 " A nice prey to have got hold of! In Heaven's 
 name, tell me what I am to do with it." 
 
 ' Time will show. This morning we had to in- 
 veigle the enemy into the place. That is done. Now 
 we want to expel him from it. That will be done 
 also." 
 
 " And meantime," said the marquis, " we are 
 going to be fed on Siberia, on grapeshot, on Mos- 
 
 158
 
 Mademoiselle de la, Seigliere 
 
 4 
 
 kova. We shall have to swallow sword-blades fric- 
 asseed in snow and bayonets dished up in hoar-frost. 
 And then, Mme. la Baronne, don't you think I am 
 playing an abominable part? In all this, the part of 
 a villain? Ventre-saint-gris! I may swear like Henri 
 IV, but it seems to me that I go to work very dif- 
 ferently from the Bearnais to recover my kingdom." 
 " Do you believe, then," replied Mme. de Vau- 
 bert, " that courage is only a matter of shooting 
 with an arquebuse, and that great deeds can be ac- 
 complished only at the point of the sword? If France 
 has not been divided in these latter days, split up, 
 and drawn by lot, like the vestment of Christ, whom 
 has she to thank? M. Talleyrand, in his embroidered 
 coat, pump shoes and silk hose, his right leg crossed 
 over his left, his hand at the frill of his shirt, has 
 done more for France than all this rabble in leather 
 breeches who call themselves the Old Guard, and 
 have not been able to save anything. Don't you, 
 for instance, see that in the day we have just gone 
 through you displayed a hundred times more genius 
 than the Bearnais at the battle of Ivry? To shake 
 one's white plume as a flag, to cut and thrust, to 
 strew the ground with dead and dying that's noth- 
 ing so very difficult. What really is glorious is to 
 triumph in this battle-field that we call life. Let 
 me compliment you on this score. You have shown 
 the coolness of a hero, the subtlety of a demon, and 
 
 159
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seiglifere 
 
 the grace of an angel. Upon my word, marquis, 
 you were admirable." 
 
 " Certainly," said the marquis, crossing his right 
 leg over his left and playing with his lace frill, " cer- 
 tainly the poor wretch was quite dazzled." 
 
 "Ah, marquis, how you smoothed him down! 
 You turned an iron gauntlet into a kid glove. I 
 knew you to be brave and valiant, but I must con- 
 fess that I was far from suspecting you of such mar- 
 vellous subtlety. It is a fine thing to be the oak and 
 yet know how to bend like the reed. Marquis de la 
 Seigliere, your place has been usurped at the Con- 
 gress of Vienna by Prince Benevent." 
 
 " You think so, baronne? " replied M. de la Sei- 
 gliere, caressing his chin. 
 
 " With a turn of your thumb, you would have 
 bent the bow of Nimrod," said Mme. de Vaubert, 
 smiling. " You would tame tigers, you would teach 
 panthers to eat out of your hand." 
 
 " What can you expect? It is the history of all 
 these petty people. From afar they talk only of de- 
 vouring us; if we deign to smil* on them, they squirm 
 and grovel at our feet. It is all very well, madame; 
 I am not yet old enough to play the part of Don 
 Diego. If this fellow were a gentleman, I could re- 
 member the lessons of Saint George." 
 
 " Marquis," replied Mme. de Vaubert proudly, 
 " if this fellow were a gentleman, and you were Don 
 
 160
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 Diego, you would not have far to go before you 
 met Rodrigo." 
 
 At this moment Raoul came in, gloved, curled, 
 neat as a new pin, with a twinkle in his eye, a smile 
 on his lips, his face fresh and rosy, spotless from head 
 to foot, as if he had just been unpacked from a band- 
 box. He was coming in search of his mother, to 
 take her back to Vaubert; also, no doubt, hoping 
 to pay his addresses to Mile, de la Seigliere, whom 
 he had not seen since the previous evening. Raoul 
 was a refreshing and a charming sight to the mar- 
 quis and the baronne. To them his arrival was like 
 the entrance of a thorough-bred Limousin into some 
 arena sullied by the intrusion of a Normandy mule. 
 It was late; the day was drawing to a close; the 
 two hands of the clock were about to meet upon the 
 enamel surface at the hour of twelve. After giving 
 her hand to the marquis, Mme. de Vaubert with- 
 drew, leaning on the arm of her son and reserving 
 to herself the time and place for informing him of 
 the ever-memorable events with which this stupen- 
 dous day had been filled. 
 
 An hour later all was in repose on either bank 
 of the Clain. M. de la Seigliere, who had fallen 
 asleep under the influence of the violent emotion 
 he had been experiencing, dreamed that a countless 
 number of hussars, all slain at the battle of Moskova, 
 were silently dividing his estates; he saw them flying 
 
 161
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 off at a gallop, each with his portion on his horse's 
 crupper this man with a farm, that one with a field, 
 another with a meadow, Bernard galloping on ahead 
 with the park in his valise and the chateau on his 
 saddle-bow. No longer having a tittle of land be- 
 neath his feet, the distracted marquis felt himself 
 roiling through space like a comet, and vainly try- 
 ing to hitch himself on to the stars. 
 
 Mme. de Vaubert was dreaming on her side, and 
 her dream strongly resembled a well-known apo- 
 logue. She saw a young and beautiful maiden, seat- 
 ed on a fine lawn, with a huge lion crouching amo- 
 rously at her feet, one paw upon her knees, while a 
 troop of menials, armed with forks and sticks, watched 
 what was going on from behind a clump of oaks. 
 The young girl held up the yellow-haired paw with 
 one hand, while with the other she trimmed the 
 claws, which the creature stretched out docilely from 
 the velvet, with a pair of scissors. When each paw 
 had been submitted to the same operation, the beau- 
 tiful girl drew out of her pocket an ivory-handled 
 file; taking in her arms the head with its blond mane, 
 she raised its thick and heavy lips with one delicate 
 hand, while with the other she gently filed away the 
 double row of formidable teeth. When from time 
 to time the patient gave a sullen roar, she soothed 
 it promptly by a flattering word or gesture. The 
 second operation over, and the lion bereft of teeth 
 
 162
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 and claws, the young girl rose, and the labourers, 
 rushing out of their hiding-place, surrounded the ani- 
 mal, which scampered off with drooping tail and 
 ears. 
 
 Bernard dreamed that in the midst of a snow- 
 field, beneath a sky of bluish ice, he suddenly per- 
 ceived a beautiful lily, which sprang up and perfumed 
 the air. As he approached to pluck it, the royal 
 flower changed into a fairy with ebony eyes and 
 golden hair, who carried him off across the clouds 
 and set him down on the enchanted shores of ever- 
 lasting spring. 
 
 Lastly, Raoul dreamed that it was his wedding 
 evening. As he was on the point of opening the 
 ball with the young Baronne Vaubert he made the 
 horrid discovery that he had put his tie on wrong 
 side out. 
 
 163
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 MLLE. DE LA SEIGLIERE alone was awake. Lean- 
 ing from the open window, her forehead resting on 
 her hand, the fingers buried in the masses of her hair, 
 she was listening absently to the confused rumours 
 that rose to her ear from the sleeping fields, from the 
 concert of the water, the leaves, and the breezes 
 a nocturne of creation the harmonious language of 
 serene and starry nights. To all these voices and 
 all these murmurs Mile, de la Seigliere mingled the 
 first thrills of a heart in which life was just awaken- 
 ing. She perceived in herself, as it were, the sound 
 of a hidden spring, on the point of breaking out, and 
 already lifting off the moss and turf with which it 
 was covered. 
 
 Helene had been brought up amid a gracious, 
 elegant, and polished society a society little varied 
 in its measures, cold, correct, formal we will not 
 say tedious. Her conversations with old Stamply, 
 Bernard's letters, the image and the memory of the 
 dead whom she had never known, had been the poem 
 of her youth. From hearing so much of the dead 
 man, from reading and rereading his letters, which 
 
 164
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 all breathed an admirable filial piety, along with the 
 exaltation of glory letters of the child as much as 
 the hero caressing and chivalrous, all written in 
 the intoxication of victory the day after the battle 
 she had grown to feel for him the poetic affection 
 which attaches to the memory of young friends gath- 
 ered in before their time. Little by little this strange 
 sentiment had germinated and blossomed in her heart 
 like some mysterious flower. Why should she feel 
 misgivings at a dream whose reality she had never 
 conceived of? Why alarm herself at a shadow whose 
 corpse was sleeping in the tomb? Sometimes she 
 carried the letters out on her excursions, as if they 
 had been some favourite book. This very morning", 
 sitting on the hillside, under a clump of aspens, she 
 had read the most touching over again that in 
 which Bernard sent his old father a scrap of the red 
 ribbon that had decorated his breast. The bit of rib- 
 bon was still there, tarnished by the smoke of pow- 
 der and by old Stamply's kisses. Helene had not 
 been able to avoid the reflection that it was worth 
 a good deal more than the pinks, the roses, or the 
 camellias that M. de Vaubert always wore in his but- 
 tonhole. She had returned with her head and heart 
 full of fire and passion, and on reaching the chateau 
 had hardly entered the salon when she was con- 
 fronted with Bernard Bernard resuscitated, Ber- 
 nard in flesh and blood before her. Less than this 
 
 165
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 would have been sufficient to inflame a fallow im- 
 agination, till now stirred only by chimeras. The 
 miraculous apparition of this young man, who was 
 unlike any one she had ever seen before, while he 
 did not differ materially from the type she had vague- 
 ly imagined of him, the position of this son whom 
 she believed to have been disinherited by his father's 
 probity, his sad and serious air, his proud and dig- 
 nified behaviour, the military stamp on his look and 
 brow, all that he had endured and suffered in short, 
 all the details of this strange day had produced a 
 deep and romantic impression upon the lovely girl. 
 Too remote from any suspicion of the cause of her 
 trouble to be alarmed at it, Mile, de la Seigliere 
 abandoned herself without demur to the sensations 
 that flooded her heart like the waves of a new life. 
 She understood, however, that since Bernard lived, 
 she had no longer any right to keep the letters that 
 old Stamply had intrusted to her upon his death- 
 bed. At the idea of separation from them, her heart 
 grew heavy; she took them all, one by one, and read 
 them again for the last time; then she slipped them 
 into an envelope, after silently bidding farewell to 
 these friends of her solitude, companions of her 
 leisure. 
 
 After this the young girl returned to the balcony; 
 she remained there some time longer, gazing at the 
 stars that sparkled in the sky, at the white vapour 
 
 166
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 tracing in the air the course of the invisible Clain, 
 and the moon, looming like a copper disk eaten out 
 by the horizon at its edges. 
 
 Some hours after the day had dawned Bernard 
 awoke in darkness; a single ray of sunshine, coming 
 from some hidden chink, divided the room by a lu- 
 minous band, in which a swarm of little flies were 
 dancing amid a million atoms, like dust of gold in 
 a track of fire. After remaining some seconds in 
 that state of well-being and nonchalance that is 
 neither sleep nor waking, he suddenly sprang up, 
 listening to the confused murmur of reality that be- 
 gan to overtake him like the sound of the rising tide, 
 and looked round him in amazement. The sound 
 grew louder, the tide went on rising. Uneasy, be- 
 wildered, he flung himself off the foot of the bed, 
 drew back the curtains, opened the shutters, and 
 with instantaneous illumination of mind and eyes, 
 saw clearly both his room and his destiny. The eagle 
 which, after roosting in its eyrie, wakes up upon a 
 perch in a cage of the menagerie, could not experi- 
 ence a more profound and terrible rage and stupe- 
 faction than was felt by Bernard at the remembrance 
 of what had passed the night before. He beat his 
 forehead in despair, calling himself coward, perjurer, 
 dastard. He felt inclined to fling out of the window 
 Japanese vases, goblet of gold pieces, Turkish slip- 
 pers, tray of cigars, and to complete his expiation 
 
 167
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 by flinging himself after them. He would have liked 
 to wring the baronne's neck; he considered what 
 punishment would be severe enough for the mar- 
 quis; even Helene was not exempt from his anger. 
 Standing motionless before a mirror, he asked him- 
 self if it were really his own image that he saw re- 
 flected there. Was it he, indeed? Traitor in one 
 day to all his instincts, traitor to his opinions, to 
 his feelings, his origin, his duty, his resolutions, even 
 to his interests, he had foregathered with the aristo- 
 crats, accepted the hospitality of the despoilers and 
 assassins of his father. And by what fatal charm, by 
 what obscure enchantment? Indignant at having 
 been cajoled like a child; convinced that the marquis 
 was nothing but an old roue, his daughter an adoles- 
 cent conspirator, brought up in the school of Mme. 
 de Vaubert; clear of all the spells insidiously woven 
 round him; at once ashamed and angry at having 
 let himself be ensnared, like Gulliver, by pigmies, 
 he took his riding-whip, pulled his hat over his eyes, 
 and, meaning not even to bid adieu to his enter- 
 tainers, left the chateau, resolute to enter it no more 
 till he should have driven out the race of La Sei- 
 gliere. 
 
 As he was crossing a court planted with limes, 
 chestnuts, and fig-trees, in order to get to the stable 
 and himself saddle the horse that had brought him 
 hither, he encountered Mile, de la Seigliere, who 
 
 168
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 had just left her room, and was even more beautiful 
 in her simple morning wrapper than she had ap- 
 peared the night before. Her forehead was so serene 
 and pure, her gait so calm, her gaze so limpid, that 
 when Bernard saw her he felt his convictions melt 
 away with his anger, as the mists upon the hills 
 disperse before the rising sun. To suspect this state- 
 ly, gracious creature of tricks, lies, intrigue, and du- 
 plicity would have been tantamount to imputing 
 murder and carnage to the iris-plumaged doves that 
 were billing and cooing upon the roof of the pigeon- 
 house hard by. The young lady went straight to the 
 hussar. 
 
 " Sir," said she, " I was looking for you." 
 
 Bernard quivered at the ring of this voice that 
 was sweeter and fresher than the balmy breath of 
 spring, more frank, more loyal and sincere than the 
 ring of gold without alloy, and the charm began to 
 work again. They were at this moment near a little 
 door that led into the country. Helene opened it, 
 and, passing her hand through Bernard's arm 
 
 " Come," she added. " It is early still, and my 
 /ather was joking last night when he offered to shoot 
 with you this morning over our lands and commons. 
 You will have to content yourself with taking a walk 
 with me across the fields. You will be the loser, but 
 the rabbits will gain." 
 
 " See here, mademoiselle," said Bernard in a 
 169
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 trembling voice, as he gently disengaged himsetf from 
 Helene, " I respect you and I honour you. I believe 
 you to be as noble as you are beautiful; I feel that 
 to doubt you would be to doubt God Almighty. You 
 loved my father; you were the guardian angel of his 
 old age. You supported him in his agony; you sat 
 beside his pillow and helped him to die. I thank 
 and bless you. You undertook the duties of the 
 absent; for that I shall feel eternally grateful to you. 
 But now let me go. I cannot explain to you the 
 serious motives that make me feel this to be a duty; 
 but since I recognise it as a duty, since I have the 
 strength to tear myself away from your gracious in- 
 sistance, you will understand, mademoiselle, that the 
 motives which govern me are imperative indeed." 
 
 " Sir," returned Mile, de la Seigliere, who be- 
 lieved she held the key to the motives Bernard spoke 
 of, " if you are alone in this world, if you have no 
 urgent engagements to call you hence, if your heart 
 is free of other ties, I know nothing that can ab- 
 solve you from living among us." 
 
 " I am alone in the world, my heart is free of all 
 ties," replied the young man sadly; "but remember 
 that I am only a rough soldier, with rude and doubt- 
 less coarse manners. I have neither the tastes nor 
 the habits and opinions of your father. A stranger 
 to the world you live in, I should only be an in- 
 truder, and should probably suffer in it myself." 
 
 170
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 " Is that all, sir? " said Helena. " But think, then, 
 in your turn, that you are on your own land here, 
 and that no one would ever think of contradicting 
 your tastes, your habits, or your opinions. My fa- 
 ther is of an amiable, indulgent, easy nature. We 
 shall see you at your own hours; if you prefer it, you 
 need never see us. You will choose the mode of life 
 that suits you best; and, apart from the temperature, 
 which we can hardly hope to regulate, it only rests 
 with yourself to believe that you are still in mid- 
 Siberia. Only you will not freeze, and you will have 
 France at your door." 
 
 " You may be sure, mademoiselle," replied Ber- 
 nard, " that my place is not with the Marquis de 
 la Seigliere." 
 
 " That is as much as to say, sir, that our place 
 is not here," replied Mile, de la Seigliere, " for we 
 are here in your home." 
 
 And so these honest and charming creatures ab- 
 dicated in favour of each other, each wishing not to 
 humiliate the other. Bernard blushed, grew con- 
 fused, and was silent. 
 
 " You see quite well, sir, that you cannot go, and 
 you will not go. Come," added Helene, taking the 
 young man's arm again; "yesterday I transmitted 
 to you, as it were, the last days of your father; I have 
 still a legacy that he confided to me on his death- 
 bed, and which I am bound to hand over to you." 
 
 171
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 With these words she led Bernard away; once 
 again he followed her, and the two stepped into a 
 secluded path that ran through the grounds between 
 hedges of hawthorn and privet. It was one of those 
 brilliant mornings that are not yet veiled by the mel- 
 ancholy of autumn. Bernard recognised the sites amid 
 which he had grown up, each step awakened some 
 memory, at each turn of the hedge he encountered 
 some fresh image of his early years. Walking thus, 
 the two talked of days gone by. Bernard told of his 
 turbulent boyhood; Helene related the story of her 
 earnest, serious youth. Sometimes they stopped, 
 either to exchange an idea, an observation, or a senti- 
 ment, or to gather the mints and foxgloves that grew 
 at the sides of the path, or to admire the effects of 
 fight upon the hills and meadows. Then, surprised 
 at some sympathetic revelation, they would pursue 
 their road in silence till some new incident came to 
 interrupt the dumb language of their souls. If to 
 some it seem strange or, let us boldly say the word, 
 indecorous that the daughter of the Marquis de la 
 Seigliere should thus be walking hi her morning 
 ntglige beside a yotmg man whom she had seen for 
 the first time on the previous evening, it is because 
 these critics, whose exquisite sensibilities we would 
 not for the world displease, forget that Mile, de la 
 Seigliere was too chaste and too pure to be ac- 
 quainted with the modesty and reserve enjoined by 
 
 173
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 society upon its vestals. We would remind them 
 also that Helene had grown up in absolute freedom, 
 and that in following the inclination of her heart she 
 believed herself to be fulfilling her duty. 
 
 After an hour's walk, they arrived, without think- 
 ing of it, at the farm where Bernard was born. At 
 the sight of this humble dwelling where nothing 
 was changed, he could not restrain his emotion. He 
 wanted to see and revisit everything; then came and 
 seated himself near Helene, in the court-yard, on 
 the same bench on which his father had sat a few 
 days before his death. They were both moved, and 
 remained silent. When Bernard raised his head, 
 which had been hidden for a long time in his hands, 
 his face was wet with tears. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," he said, turning to Helene, " I 
 told you yesterday of my six years' exile and hard 
 slavery. You are good I know and feel it. Per- 
 haps you felt pity for my martyrdom; and yet in this 
 indiscreet account of my woes and miseries I did 
 not mention the sharpest of my tortures. This tor- 
 ture has not ceased; I carry it in my bosom like a 
 vulture that gnaws my vitals. When I left my father, 
 he was already old and alone in the world. In vain 
 he put before me that he had no one but me to com- 
 fort him. I left him pitilessly to run after the phan- 
 tom called by the name of glory. In the midst of 
 camps and of the intoxication of war, I did not re- 
 
 173
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 fleet upon my ingratitude; in the silence of captivity 
 I felt myself crushed of a sudden by the weight of a 
 terrible thought. I pictured my old father bereft of 
 parents, friends, and family, given up to despair, 
 weeping my death, casting reproaches on my life. 
 Thenceforward, the thought that he was displeased 
 with me and doubted my tenderness gave me neither 
 peace nor rest; it became the grief of my heart, and 
 I still ask myself whether he forgave me on his death- 
 bed." 
 
 " He died blessing your memory," replied the 
 young lady; "he departed joyfully, in the hope of 
 meeting you in heaven." 
 
 " Did he never speak of me with bitterness? " 
 " He never spoke of you save in love, and with 
 enthusiasm." 
 
 a Did he never curse my departure? " 
 " He never did aught but tremble with pride at 
 the thought of your glorious labours. For him you 
 were no more, and yet you were his entire life. He 
 wept for you, and yet he only existed in and for you. 
 When he was on the point of expiring he handed 
 your letters over to me, as the thing left to him that 
 was most dear and precious to bequeath. Here are 
 the letters," said Helene, drawing them from a velvet 
 bag and giving them to Bernard ; " they have taught 
 me to know and to love France. I have seen your 
 father steeping them in his tears and kisses." 
 
 174
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 " Mademoiselle," said Bernard in a voice of deep 
 emotion, " you helped the father to die, you are help- 
 ing the son to live; a thousand blessings be upon 
 you." 
 
 And they returned more silently than they had 
 come. M. de la Seigliere, who was still under the 
 influence of the hideous dream of the night before, 
 received Bernard with cordiality, and he could not 
 avoid sitting down at the breakfast table between 
 the marquis and his daughter. Left to himself, the 
 marquis was charming. If he gave vent to a few 
 imprudences, his follies had an air of frankness and 
 loyalty that was not unpleasing to the frank and 
 loyal nature of his guest. When the meal was over, 
 the day passed like a dream, Bernard always on the 
 point of leaving, always held back by some new epi- 
 sode. He turned over albums with Helene, went to 
 the billiard-room with the marquis, allowed himself 
 to be driven in an open carriage, visited the stables 
 of the chateau and talked horses with the old gen- 
 tleman, who loved and affected to understand them. 
 Ip the afternoon came Mme. de Vaubert, who put 
 forth all the cajoleries of her wit and grace. The 
 dinner was almost merry. In the evening, over the 
 fire, Bernard forgot himself in telling over his battles 
 once more. In short, when midnight struck, after 
 shaking hands with the marquis, he retired to his 
 room, and while he promised himself that he would 
 9-Vol.7 175
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 go next day, he smoked a cigar and went to bed 
 peacefully. 
 
 Meantime, what had become of the young baron? 
 In the forenoon of this same day Mme. de Vaubert, 
 who had dissuaded her son from presenting himself 
 at the chateau the evening before, had summoned 
 him to her presence. 
 
 " Raoul," she said at once, " do you love me? " 
 
 "What a question, mother!" replied the young 
 man. 
 
 "Are you devoted body and soul to my inter- 
 ests? " 
 
 " Have you ever had reason to doubt me? " 
 
 " If important business that concerns me obliged 
 you to start for Paris? " 
 
 " I would go." 
 
 " Immediately? " 
 
 " I will go at once." 
 
 " Without losing an hour? " 
 
 " I am off," said Raoul, taking his hat. 
 
 " Very well," said Mme. de Vaubert. " This let- 
 ter contains my instructions; you will not open it 
 till you get to Paris. The Bordeaux mail passes 
 Poitiers in about two hours. Here is money. Kiss 
 me. And now, be gone." 
 
 " Without offering my adieux to the marquis and 
 my homage to his daughter? " asked Raoul, hesi- 
 tating. 
 
 176
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 " I will see to that," said the baronne. 
 
 But " 
 
 " Raoul, do you love me? " 
 
 "What will they think?" 
 
 " Are you devoted to me? " 
 
 " Mother, I am gone." 
 
 Three hours later M. de Vaubert was trundling 
 off to Paris, less perplexed and put out than you 
 would have expected, feeling sure his mother had 
 only sent him off to buy the wedding presents. Di- 
 rectly he had arrived, he broke the seal of the en- 
 velope that contained the baronne's wishes, and read 
 the following instructions: 
 
 " Amuse yourself, go into society, live only with 
 people of your own rank, never forget your dignity 
 upon any occasion, control your youth, don't think 
 of returning until I send for you, and trust me to 
 look after your happiness." 
 
 Raoul did not understand, and did not try to. 
 Next day he walked solemnly on the boulevards, 
 with a cold and distinguished air, as little curious 
 about his surroundings in the midst of Paris, which 
 he saw for the first time, as if he had been taking 
 a walk on his own estates. 
 
 177
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 WEEKS and months went by. Always on the 
 point of starting, Bernard never left. The season 
 was favourable; he hunted, rode the horses of the 
 marquis, and finally let himself go in the current of 
 the elegant and facile life expressed in the term vie 
 de chateau. The sallies of the marquis pleased him. 
 While he still felt, in regard to Mme. de Vaubert, 
 a sense of vague defiance and inexplicable malaise, 
 he had yielded, without attempting to ask himself 
 the reason, to the charm of her grace and wit. The 
 meals were gay, the wine excellent; the walks in late 
 evening on the banks of the Clain or under the trees 
 of the park, where autumn had now swept the leaves, 
 the palavers round the fire, the discussions, the tales 
 of adventure, shortened the long, idle evenings. 
 When the marquis gave vent to some aristocratic 
 sally that fell like a bomb at Bernard's feet, Helene, 
 working by the light of the lamp at a piece of em- 
 broidery, would raise her blond head, to heal by 
 her smile the wound her father had given. Mile. 
 de la Seigliere, who still believed the young man to 
 be in a painful, humiliating, and precarious position 
 
 178
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 at the chateau, was solely preoccupied in making 
 him forget it. This error gave Bernard such agree- 
 able compensations that he endured the follies of the 
 incorrigible old marquis with a heroic patience which 
 surprised himself. Besides, while they agreed on no 
 one point, Bernard and the marquis had arrived at 
 a certain liking for each other. The open character 
 of Stamply's son, his frank and loyal nature, his firm 
 attitude, his brisk and daring speech, the very ardour 
 of his sentiments each time the battles of the Em- 
 pire and the glory of his Emperor were mentioned, 
 were not offensive to the old gentleman. On the 
 other hand, the chivalrous follies of the great noble- 
 man were entertaining enough to the young soldier. 
 They hunted together, rode on horseback, played at 
 billiards, discussed politics, lost their tempers, quar- 
 relled, and were not far from loving each other. 
 
 " Upon my word," the marquis thought, " for a 
 hussar and a farmer's son, our fine fellow really is 
 not a bad sort." " Well," said Bernard to himself, 
 " for a marquis, a gallant of the ancien regime, this 
 old gentleman is not too impossible." And at night 
 when they parted, and in the morning when they 
 met, they shook hands cordially. 
 
 The autumn was drawing to a close; winter made 
 Bernard appreciate the joys of the fireside and the 
 delights of intimacy even more acutely. Since his 
 installation at the chateau they had judged it pru- 
 
 179
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seiglierc 
 
 dent to check the stream of visitors. They lived at 
 home; the festivities came to an end. Bernard, who 
 had passed the previous winter in hyperborean 
 steppes, no longer thought of resisting the seduc- 
 tions of this amiable and charming family. He rec- 
 ognised that in last resort these nobles had their 
 good points, and improved at close quarters. He 
 asked himself what would have become of him, sad 
 and solitary, in this deserted chateau. He told him- 
 self that he would be wanting in respect to his 
 father's memory if he brought the rigour of the law 
 to bear upon these people who had cheered his fa- 
 ther's last days; and that, since they did not con- 
 test his rights, he must leave it to time, to the deli- 
 cacy and loyalty of his guests, to bring this strange 
 story to a fitting close without broils and discussions. 
 In short, in abandoning himself to the flood on which 
 he was cradled, good reasons were not wanting to 
 excuse him in his own eyes, and to justify his weak- 
 ness. There was one that was worth all the rest; 
 it was the only one he did not mention. 
 
 For Helene, the time passed lightly and rapidly; 
 for Bernard, rapidly and lightly. No great perspi- 
 cacity was needed to discover what was passing in 
 these two young hearts; but our marquis, whose ideas 
 were the same in love and politics, would never have 
 
 / 
 
 conceived the notion that his blood could possibly 
 feel attracted by that of his quondam farmer. On 
 
 180
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 the other hand, Mme. de Vaubert, who for all her 
 subtlety had never suspected the surprises of passion, 
 could not reasonably suppose that Bernard's pres- 
 ence could eclipse the image of Raoul. Nor did 
 Mile, de la Seigliere suppose it either. This child 
 knew so little of love that she believed herself enam- 
 oured of her fiance; recognising herself before God 
 the bride of M. de Vaubert, believing herself in re- 
 gard to Bernard to be merely acting from generosity, 
 she abandoned herself without question to the mys- 
 terious current that was engulfing her. 
 
 Often, indeed, she compared the heroic youth of 
 the one with the indolent existence of the other; 
 often, in reading Raoul's letters, thinking the while 
 of those from Bernard, she was astonished to find 
 the tenderness of the lover less burning and less ex- 
 alted than the tenderness of the son; when, with 
 sparkling eyes, his forehead glowing with magical 
 reflections, Bernard spoke of glory and of combats, 
 or, seated near her, contemplated her in silence, 
 Helene was conscious indeed of a strange and new 
 emotion that she had never experienced in the pres- 
 ence of her handsome fiance; but how could she have 
 divined love in these tremors of her being, she who 
 till now had mistaken for love a lukewarm, peaceable 
 feeling, untroubled and free from mystery, causing 
 neither pain nor joy. And lastly, Bernard himself 
 was unconsciously intoxicated by the charm that en- 
 
 181
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 veloped him. Thus these two young people met every 
 day, in perfect freedom as well as perfect innocence, 
 each trying mutually to make the other forget their 
 respective positions Helene redoubling her fascina- 
 tions, Bernard his humility neither the one nor the 
 other knowing that love had already crept in beneath 
 these adorable delicacies. And yet it fell out one 
 day that a simultaneous revelation came to them. 
 
 Shortly before the advent of Bernard, by one of 
 the youthful freaks common enough to the old age 
 of the marquis, he had acquired a young Limousin 
 of the purest breed, with the reputation of being 
 indomitable no one so far having been able to 
 mount him. Helene had named him Roland, in allu- 
 sion doubtless to Rolando Furioso. A poor wretch, 
 some would-be centaur, having volunteered to break 
 him, was promptly thrown by Roland, with a frac- 
 tured spine. Since then no one had ventured to 
 mount the champion, who for the rest was the talk 
 of the country for ten miles round, on account of his 
 marvellous beauty and pure breed. One day, when 
 they were talking of him, Bernard boasted that he 
 would master the animal, break him in, and make 
 him, in less than a month, as docile and gentle as 
 a lamb. Mme. de Vaubert encouraged him to make 
 the attempt; the marquis roused himself to dissuade 
 him; Helene implored him to do nothing of the kind. 
 Feeling his honour piqued, Bernard went straight 
 
 182
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 to the stables, and soon after appeared beneath the 
 balcony where were the baronne, M. de la Seigliere, 
 and his daughter, on Roland, saddled, magnificent 
 and terrible. Furious at the bit, with foaming 
 mouth, fiery nostrils, and bloodshot eyes, like some 
 wild steed rebelling at girth and bridle, the superb 
 animal leaped up with incredible fury, reared, pi- 
 rouetted, stood on his hind legs all to the visible 
 satisfaction of Mme. de Vaubert, who seemed to take 
 the most lively interest in these exercises, while the 
 marquis applauded loudly, surprised at the grace and 
 address of the rider. 
 
 " Ventre-salnt-gris! Young man, you must have 
 the blood of the Lapithae in your veins," he cried, 
 clapping his hands. 
 
 When Bernard came back to the salon he found 
 Helene as white as a ghost. For the rest of the 
 day Mile, de la Seigliere addressed him neither by 
 word nor look; only in the evening, when Bernard, 
 who feared he had offended her, was passing near 
 her, sad and silent, while the marquis and Mme. de 
 Vaubert were absorbed in a game of chess 
 
 " Why do you stake your life in this reckless 
 manner? " asked Helene in a low voice, coldly, with- 
 out raising her eyes or interrupting her embroidery. 
 
 " My life? " replied Bernard, smiling. " It is a 
 very poor stake." 
 
 " You know nothing about that," said Helene. 
 183
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 " Pray believe no one cares about it," Bernard 
 went on in a trembling voice. 
 
 ' You know nothing about it," said Helene 
 again. " Besides, it is sinful to dispose in that way 
 of a gift of God." 
 
 " Checkmate," cried the marquis. " Young 
 man," he added, turning to Bernard, " I repeat that 
 you must be of the blood of the Lapithae." 
 
 " At this rate," said Mme. de Vaubert in her turn, 
 " I wager that M. Bernard will be master of Roland, 
 and will lead him about like a lamb, before the week 
 is over." 
 
 " You shall never ride that horse again," said 
 Mile, de la Seigliere in a tone of calm and cold 
 authority, her eyes still dropped upon her work, and 
 speaking so as to be heard only by the young man, 
 who withdrew almost immediately to hide the agi- 
 tation into which her words had thrown him. 
 
 184
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THINGS having got to this pass, there was no 
 apparent reason why they should for a very long 
 time, if ever, assume a different complexion. Thor- 
 oughly well established, Bernard's position seemed 
 to be invulnerable. The utmost the marquis could 
 reasonably hope was that the young man might be 
 pleased to make no change in his affairs, and to 
 stand at that. Hereupon, to speak plainly, the mar- 
 quis became annoyed. He was instinctively attract- 
 ed to Bernard, and liked him, or was at any rate 
 willing to tolerate him, as often as his volatile dispo- 
 sition enabled him to forget the title by which 
 Stamply's son was sitting at his table and his fire- 
 side; but in his hours of reflection, when, crushed 
 by the sense of his dependence, the marquis fell back 
 upon the realities of the situation, he saw in him 
 only an enemy to the domicile, a sword of Damocles 
 suspended by a thread flaming above him. Two 
 Bernards existed for him, the one who was not ob- 
 noxious, the other whom he would willingly have 
 sunk a hundred feet beneath the surface. He no 
 longer displayed, in talking to Mme. de Vaubert,
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 the pretty rages and charming passions in which 
 he at first indulged. He was no longer the petu- 
 lant and frisky marquis, breaking his halter at every 
 moment, escaping by leaps and bounds into the fields 
 of fantasy. The reality had mastered him; if at 
 times he still attempted to escape from it, the rider 
 ruthlessly pulled him up, with a dig in the flanks 
 from his iron spur. Mme. de Vaubert herself was 
 far from the bold assurance that had at first dis- 
 tinguished her. Not that she had thrown up the 
 game Mme. de Vaubert was not the woman to be 
 so soon discouraged; but whatever she might say 
 to reassure him, the marquis felt that she was hesi- 
 tating, uncertain, troubled, irresolute. The fact is, 
 that the baronne no longer felt the confident in- 
 trepidity that had upheld her so long, that she had 
 so long succeeded in communicating to the heart 
 of the old gentleman. As she studied Bernard, 
 watched him closely, and observed his life, the con- 
 viction had grown on her that his was not the mind 
 or character with which one makes arrangements; 
 she understood that she had to deal with one of 
 those proud and susceptible natures which impose 
 conditions, but do not receive them; which may ab- 
 dicate, but never come to terms. Since, in this in- 
 stance, the abdication would involve a million, it 
 was hardly probable that Bernard would readily con- 
 sent to it, however disinterested he might be. Mile. 
 
 186
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seiglifcre 
 
 de la Seigliere alone might attempt this miracle; 
 she alone could crown the work of seduction that 
 her youth, her grace and beauty, had begun victori- 
 ously, all unconsciously to herself. Unfortunately, 
 Helene was only a simple creature, and single-heart- 
 ed. If she possessed the charm that converts the 
 lion into the lover, she ignored the art of filing his 
 teeth and paring down his claws. By what spells 
 and subterfuges could this noble heart be brought, 
 without suspecting it, to become the instrument of 
 guile and the accomplice of intrigue? All Mme. 
 de Vaubert's genius spent itself in vain over this 
 problem. Her interviews with the marquis had no 
 longer the spirit and animation that formerly char- 
 acterized them. There was no more of the haughty 
 disdain, the superb contempt, the sprightly manner, 
 which doubtless more than once have drawn a smile 
 from the reader. When the sportsman sets off in 
 the morning, at the first dawn of day, full of hope 
 and ardour, he breathes the air deep into his lungs 
 and sets his feet with delight upon the dewy mead- 
 ows and stubble-fields. To see him thus, his gun 
 upon his shoulder, escorted by his dogs, you would 
 say that he was marching to the conquest of the 
 world. But at mid-day, when the dogs have started 
 neither hare nor partridge, and the sportsman sees 
 that he will return at night to his lodge with an 
 empty bag, without firing a shot, unless he wastes 
 
 187
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 his powder on the linnets, he trudges on with a sulky 
 step, through the brambles that tear his gaiters, un- 
 der the burning sun that beats on his head, till he 
 sits down discouraged beneath the first hedge he 
 comes to. That is more or less the history of the 
 baronne and the marquis. They have reached mid- 
 day without bagging any game; in fact, they are 
 more to be pitied than our sportsman, for the game 
 has bagged them. 
 
 "Well, Mme. la Baronne?" the marquis would 
 ask sometimes, shaking his head with an air of con- 
 sternation. 
 
 " Well, marquis," Mme. de Vaubert would re- 
 ply, " we must wait and see. This Bernard is not 
 exactly the fool we reckoned on. Real or pretended, 
 he is not without a certain elevation in his ideas and 
 feelings. Everybody gets it more or less in these 
 days. Thanks to the benefits of a revolution that 
 has confounded all classes and suppressed all lines 
 of demarcation, the rabble pretend that their organ- 
 ization is on the level of ours; there is no one so 
 shabby that they would not think themselves dis- 
 honoured if they did not claim the dignity of a Ro- 
 han, the pride of a Montmorency. It is a sad pity, 
 but there it is. These people will end by blazoning 
 their filth, and making it into a coat of arms." 
 
 " All the same, Mme. la Baronne," retorted 
 the marquis, " we are playing a vile game, and have 
 
 188
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 not even luck to excuse us. Thanks to your advice, 
 I am likely to lose both my fortune and my honour 
 at once; it is too much by half. How is this comedy 
 going to end? You keen on telling me that our 
 prey is in our hands. Par Dieu! it is sooner we that 
 are in the hands of our prey. We have shut up a 
 rat in a Dutch cheese." 
 
 " We must see, we must wait," repeated Mme. 
 de Vaubert. " Henri IV did not win his kingdom 
 in a day." 
 
 " He won it on horseback, at the point of an 
 unblemished sword." 
 
 " You forget the mass." 
 
 " It was a low mass; that which I have to hear 
 has lasted three months, and I am only at the in- 
 troit." 
 
 Though it cost him dear to admit strangers into 
 his secret, a secret, by the way, to no one, and despite 
 his reluctance to commit himself into the hands of 
 lawyers, the marquis had reached such a state of 
 perplexity that he determined to take the advice 
 of a celebrated jurist who was then in practice at 
 Poitiers, where he passed for the D'Aguesseau of the 
 district. M. de la Seigliere was still doubtful of the 
 validity of the claim of his guest; he refused to be- 
 lieve that any legislator, even if he were Corsican, 
 could carry his iniquity so far as to encourage and 
 legitimize such exorbitant pretensions. At the risk 
 
 189
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seiglifere 
 
 of losing his last hope, he one day summoned to his 
 study the Poitevin D'Aguesseau, and put the case 
 plainly before him, so as to know if there were any 
 honourable way of getting rid of Bernard, or at any 
 rate of forcing him into some compromise that would 
 involve neither the honour nor the fortune of the 
 La Seiglieres. This celebrated lawyer, by name Des 
 Tournelles, was a shrewd little old man, a wit and 
 a scoffer, of good status in the aristocracy of law, 
 and therefore setting small store by the aristocracy 
 of the sword; bearing no love to the La Seiglieres 
 in particular, since they from time immemorial had 
 treated the furred gowns and caps of justice as the 
 merest bourgeoisie. He had more especially laid up 
 the memory of one interview, in which the marquis 
 had treated him de haut en bos, an insignificant in- 
 cident, dating back more than thirty years more 
 than thirty years forgotten by the offender, while 
 it still rankled in the breast of the offended party. 
 M. des Tournelles was secretly delighted to see the 
 marquis in such a tight corner. After going into ' 
 the affair, and assuring himself by the actual words 
 of the act of donation standing between old Stamply 
 and his former master that the rights of the donee 
 were revoked in their integrity by the mere fact of 
 the existence of the donor's son, he took a malicious 
 pleasure in pointing out to the marquis that not 
 merely did the law afford him no means of ejecting 
 
 190
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 Bernard, but that it even authorized the latter to 
 put him and his daughter literally out of doors. Nor 
 did the old fox stop there. Under the guise of argu- 
 ment, he defended the principle that reinstated Ber- 
 nard in his father's property; he developed the idea 
 of the legislator; he maintained that in this, far from 
 being, as M. de la Seigliere affirmed, iniquitous, the 
 law was but just, foreseeing, wise, and maternal. In 
 vain did the marquis protest; in vain did he accuse 
 the republic of exaction, violence, and usurpation; 
 in vain did he try to prove that he held his estates, 
 not from the liberality, but from the probity, of his 
 quondam farmer; in vain did he attempt once more 
 to escape by the thousand-and-one by-paths that 
 he knew so well; the lawyer pointed out to him po- 
 litely that in appropriating the territorial property 
 of the emigres, the republic had only exercised a 
 legitimate right, and that in giving him back the 
 demesne of his fathers, his former tenant had only 
 performed an act of munificent generosity. Under 
 pretext of throwing light upon the question, he com- 
 placently crushed the great noble with the generos- 
 ity of the " old rogue." Gifted with inexhaustible 
 loquacity, the words escaped from his mouth like 
 a flight of arrows from the bow; so that the poor 
 marquis, riddled with stings, like a man who runs 
 his head into a swarm of bees, perspired freely, and 
 wriggled in his chair, cursing the unfortunate in- 
 
 191
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 spiration that had made him send for this exasper- 
 ating chatterbox, not having even the relief of get- 
 ting in a passion, since the executioner conducted 
 himself with graceful courtesy and dexterity. At 
 one moment, pushed to extremity, he cried: 
 
 " Enough, sir, enough. Vcntre-saint-gris! it seems 
 to me that you are abusing your erudition and your 
 eloquence. I am quite sufficiently instructed, and 
 do not wish to hear more." 
 
 " M. le Marquis," replied the wicked old man 
 severely, for the game amused him, and he did not 
 intend to give it up till he had gorged himself 
 with the blood of his victim, " I am here as the 
 physician of your fortune and your honour; I should 
 think myself unworthy of the confidence you have 
 reposed in me to-day if I did not respond to it with 
 entire frankness. The case is grave; it is not by 
 reservations on your part, by mincing matters on 
 mine, that you can hope to escape from it." 
 
 These last words fell like a kindly dew upon the 
 ulcerated heart of the marquis. 
 
 " Then, sir," he asked with a resigned and hesi- 
 tating air, " the matter is not yet irretrievable? " 
 
 " Surely not." replied the wily Des Tournelles. 
 " provided only that you resign yourself to hear all 
 and to confess all. I repeat, M. le Marquis, that 
 you must see in me only the physician who has come 
 to study your disease, to attempt to cure it." 
 
 IQ2
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 Softened by fear, enticed by hope, encouraged 
 by the apparent benevolence under which the old 
 reptile hid his perfidious designs, the marquis 
 launched out into exaggerated confidences. Keep- 
 ing to the comparison of the jurist, it happened to 
 him as it happens to persons who, after passing their 
 lives in railing at doctors, throw themselves precipi- 
 tately into the physician's arms directty they fancy 
 that they feel the icy breath of death upon their 
 pillow. Apart from a few details which he thought 
 it better to omit, he told the entire story, his own 
 return, the arrival of Bernard, the way the young 
 man had been installed in the chateau. Incited by 
 the malice of Des Tournelles, who interrupted him 
 every now and then by exclaiming: " Good! very 
 good! This is less serious than I at first imagined. 
 Courage, M. le Marquis, it will be all right, we 
 shall get out of it " he exposed the whole of his 
 position, and literally unclothed it; while, with his 
 chin resting on the hook of his cane, the old repro- 
 bate choked with joy at the sight of the haughty 
 nobleman detailing all his infirmities and shameless- 
 ly exposing the sores of his pride and egoism. When 
 he had got to the end of his confidences, M. des 
 Tournelles assumed a solicitous air and shook his 
 head gravely. 
 
 "It is serious," he said, "very serious; more so 
 than I thought an hour ago. M. le Marquis, it 
 
 193
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 would not be right to hide from you that you art 
 in the most ticklish position a gentleman ever found 
 himself in any age or country. You are no longer 
 at home here. It is not you who are putting up 
 with Bernard, it is he who is putting up with you. 
 You are at his mercy, you are dependent on his 
 caprice. Any day this boy may tell you to walk off. 
 It is bad, very bad, very bad indeed." 
 
 " But, pardieu! I know quite well that it is bad," 
 cried the marquis angrily ; " if you tell me that a 
 hundred times, you tell me nothing new." 
 
 " I am not unaware," pursued M. des Tournelles 
 smoothly, without heeding the interruptions of the 
 marquis, " I am far from unaware, that it is greatly 
 to the interest of this young man to keep you under 
 his roof, you and your charming daughter; I know 
 that he would have difficulty in finding guests who 
 were equally distinguished, and reflected so much 
 honour upon him. I will go further; I will say that 
 it is his duty to try to keep you. I hold that filial 
 piety bids him imperiously connect you with his for- 
 tunes. You were so good to his father! They say 
 with justice that he enriched himself in despoiling 
 himself, since you surrounded him in his last days 
 with so much attention, such care, such tenderness 
 and consideration. Affecting sight! It is a fine 
 thing to see the hand that gives outdone in generos- 
 ity by the hand that takes Although I have not 
 
 194
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 the pleasure of knowing M. Bernard, I do not doubt 
 his pious intentions up to the present time; every- 
 thing about him indicates a noble heart, an elevated 
 mind, a grateful soul. But, besides the fact that it 
 does not beseem a La Seigliere to accept humiliating 
 conditions, life is strewn with obstacles against which 
 the purest and most honourable intentions must in- 
 evitably run up sooner or later. Bernard is young, 
 he will marry, he will have children. M. le Marquis, 
 I owe you the truth. The situation is as serious 
 as it possibly can be." 
 
 " But, devil take it, sir," cried M. de la Seigliere, 
 who felt his blood mounting up to his ears, " I did 
 not send for you to calculate the depth of the abyss 
 into which I have fallen, but to show me a way of 
 getting out of it. Begin by getting me out; you 
 can plumb it afterward." 
 
 " Gently, sir, gently," replied M. des Tournelles; 
 " before I can give you a ladder, it is as well to 
 know how long you want it to be. M. le Marquis, 
 the gulf is profound. What a gulf! If you ever re- 
 turn from it, you may congratulate yourself, like 
 Theseus, on having seen strange shores. And what 
 a history yours is, sir! what rare games of chance! 
 what strange vicissitudes! The Marquis de la Sei- 
 gliere, one of the grandest names in history, one 
 of the premier nobles of France, recalled from exile 
 by one of his old servants! The worthy man strip- 
 
 195
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 ping himself to enrich his former master! The son, 
 who was thought dead, returning one fine morn- 
 ing to claim his inheritance! It is a perfect drama, 
 it is a romance; we have nothing of greater in- 
 terest in all our judicial annals. You will admit, 
 M. le Marquis, that you were most surprised when 
 this young soldier, who was killed at the battle 
 of Moskowa, presented himself before you. Even 
 if his return has caused some disturbance in your 
 life, I will wager that it was not unpleasant to you 
 to see the son of your benefactor alive and well." 
 
 " Have done, sir, have done," roared the marquis, 
 on the point of exploding, and redder than any tur- 
 key-cock. " Do you know any way of extricating 
 me from all this? " 
 
 " Vertudieu, M. le Marquis! " cried the merciless 
 old lawyer; " we must set to work and find one. 
 You cannot be left in this state of helpless embar- 
 rassment. It must not be said that a Marquis de 
 la Seigliere and his daughter are living at the ex- 
 pense of the son of their quondam farmer, exposed 
 day by day to the chance of being turned out in 
 disgrace, like lodgers who have not paid their rent. 
 That must not, shall not be." 
 
 With these words M. des Tournelles appeared 
 to fall into deep meditation. He remained for quite 
 a quarter of an hour, tracing the pattern of the par- 
 quet with the end of his cane, or studying the mould- 
 
 196
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 ings of the ceiling with his nose in the air, the mar- 
 quis meantime watching him with an anxiety impos- 
 sible to describe but easy to understand trying 
 to read his fate from the countenance of the old 
 knave, and passing alternately from discouragement 
 to hope, according as the perfidious Des Tournelles 
 assumed a conscious or a smiling expression. 
 
 " M. le Marquis," he said at length, " the law 
 is explicit; the rights of Stamply's son are incon- 
 testable. And yet, since there is nothing in law that 
 cannot be disputed, I have the conviction that you 
 might with much guile and skill succeed in dissuad- 
 ing young Stamply from his claims. But here's the 
 rub: for that you must needs resort to the subtleties 
 of the law, and you, Marquis de la Seigliere, would 
 never consent to engage in these subterfuges and 
 quibbles." 
 
 " Never, sir, never! " replied the marquis firmly. 
 " I would sooner throw myself out of the window 
 than wipe up the dirt on the staircase." 
 
 " I was sure of it," pursued M. des Tournelles. 
 "Your ideas are too chivalrous for me to attempt 
 to dispute them. Allow me, however, just to remind 
 you that the estates of your ancestors, a million of 
 property, the future of your daughter, and the des- 
 tiny of your race are all involved in the question. 
 All that requires a little consideration. I am not 
 speaking of you, M. le Marquis. You have the most 
 
 197
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 disinterested heart that ever beat in human breast; 
 ruin frightens you less than a spot upon your 
 scutcheon. You are not afraid of poverty; if need 
 be, you could exist on roots and fresh water. All 
 that is noble, grand, heroic! I can already see you 
 stepping out again on the road to poverty. This 
 picture moves my heart and excites my imagination, 
 for it has been rightly said that the most magnificent 
 spectacle one can see is the struggle of a man who 
 is overtaken by adversity. But your daughter, sir, 
 your daughter; for you are a father, M. le Marquis. 
 If you are pleased to adopt the role of CEdipus, why 
 should you impose on this amiable child the task 
 of Antigone? What, I say, pitiless as Agamemnon, 
 would you sacrifice her, a new Iphigenia, upon the 
 altar of pride to the egoism of your honour? I can 
 well imagine that you shrink from dragging your 
 name before the tribunals, from tricking justice into 
 the recognition of your rights. Still, think of it 
 a million's worth of property! M. le Marquis, you 
 are in your place here; this hereditary luxury suits 
 you to perfection, and fits you like a glove. And 
 then, see, is it, honestly speaking, any more dis- 
 graceful to strike your enemy by default of law than 
 it formerly was among knights to aim, lance in hand, 
 at the joints of the visor and the weak points of the 
 cuirass? " 
 
 "Well, sir," said the marquis after a few mo- 
 198
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 ments' silent hesitation, " if you think you can an- 
 swer for my success, I will, from devotion to the 
 interests of my dear and well-beloved daughter, re- 
 sign myself to empty the dregs of this cup of hu- 
 miliation." 
 
 " Triumph of paternal love! " cried M. des Tour- 
 nelles. " Then, it is agreed, we will go to law. The 
 only point remaining is to see by what subtleties 
 we can legally defraud the son of the worthy man 
 who handed all his property over to you of his le- 
 gitimate claim." 
 
 " Ventre-saint-gris! Sir, let us understand each 
 other," cried the old gentleman, growing at once 
 red and white with anger. " That is not what I am 
 asking. I believe it to be my duty to transmit the 
 estates of her ancestors intact to my daughter, but, 
 vive Dieu! I do not want to despoil this young man. 
 I will provide for him; I will spare no pains to assure 
 him of an honourable and easy existence." 
 
 " Ah, noble, noble heart! " said M. des Tournelles 
 with an emotion so admirably feigned that M. de la 
 Seigliere himself was quite moved by it. " And these 
 are the great nobles who are accused of egoism and 
 Ingratitude! Well, then, since you insist on it, we 
 will do something for the hussar. Besides, we will 
 state our intentions in full court. If only our lawyer 
 understands his game, that ought to make a good 
 effect on the judges." 
 
 io VoL 7 199
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 With these words M. des Tournelles, having de- 
 sired a few minutes' reflection, in order, as he said, 
 to find the flaw in the act, appeared to lose himself 
 once more in profound meditation. At the end of 
 ten minutes he came to himself, radiant, with a beam- 
 ing countenance, and a smile upon his lips; seeing 
 which, M. de la Seigliere felt all the joy of a man 
 who, after being sentenced to death, hears himself 
 condemned to penal servitude for life. 
 
 " Well, sir? " he asked. 
 
 " Well, M. le Marquis," replied M. des Tour- 
 nelles, suddenly assuming an air of pity and con- 
 sternation, " you are lost, lost beyond resource, lost 
 beyond hope. When all is considered, weighed, cal- 
 culated, to go to law would be a blunder; you would 
 compromise your reputation without saving your 
 fortune. I could undertake to get over the law and 
 deliver you from the bearing of Article 960 of the 
 chapter on Donations with the Code one can al- 
 ways arrange something. Unfortunately, the terms 
 of the act that reinstated you in your fortune are 
 too clear, too precise, and too explicit for it to be 
 possible, with the best will in the world, to alter and 
 contravene its meaning; an advocate would merely 
 waste his time and trouble. Old Stamply only gave 
 you his fortune in the conviction that his son was 
 dead. The son is alive, so the father has made you 
 a gift of nothing. Get out of that if you can. But 
 
 200
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 I should like to know," he cried triumphantly, " why 
 we are amusing ourselves, both you and I, in seeking 
 such remote and disastrous possibilities, when there 
 is another means close by, under our hand, as hon- 
 ourable as it would be infallible. However little you 
 may know your comic authors, you will doubtless 
 have remarked that all the comedies end in a mar- 
 riage so much so that it seems as if marriage had 
 been specially instituted for the pleasure and satis- 
 faction of the poets. Marriage, M. le Marquis! 
 There is the great solvent, that is the deus ex machind, 
 the sword of Alexander cutting the Gordian knot. 
 Look at McJere; look at Regnard; look at them 
 all. How could they get out of their inventions if 
 they did not do it by a marriage? In every comedy, 
 what reconciles the divided families? what terminates 
 the divisions? what closes the lawsuits, extinguishes 
 the feuds, puts an end to the love-making? Mar- 
 riage, always a marriage. Well, vertudieu! if it be 
 true that the theatre is the picture and expression 
 of real life, what is to prevent us also from ending 
 with a marriage? Mile, de la Seigliere is young; 
 they tell me she is charming. On his side, M. Ber- 
 nard is young also, and they say passably good-look- 
 ing. Well, then, marry the two young people. Mo- 
 liere himself could not have invented any better con- 
 clusion to the adventure." 
 
 At these words, and notwithstanding the gravity 
 20 1
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 of the situation, the marquis was seized with such a 
 mad fit of laughter that he held his sides for nearly 
 five minutes, twisting in his arm-chair and laughing 
 loudly. 
 
 " Pardieu, sir! " he cried at last, " since you have 
 kept me on tenter-hooks for two hours, you owe me 
 this little reparation. Say that again, I beg." 
 
 " I have the honour to repeat to you, M. le Mar- 
 quis," resumed the spiteful old man, with imper- 
 turbable coolness, " that the only means of concili- 
 ating your reputation and your interests in this 
 affair would be to offer your daughter in marriage 
 to the son of your quondam farmer." 
 
 This time the marquis could not contain him- 
 self. He fell back on his chair, got up, walked twice 
 round the room, and sat down again, in convulsions 
 of hysterical laughter. When he had calmed down 
 a little 
 
 " Sir," he cried, " they told me you were a clever 
 man, but I was far from suspecting this genius in 
 you. Ventre-saint-gris! you do know how to set 
 about it. What a prompt appreciation of the situ- 
 ation! What a talent for arranging matters! You 
 must have been sent to school very young to have 
 reached this point in learning and erudition already. 
 Your father was doubtless a lawyer. You would 
 have given points to Bartole; Maitre Cujas would 
 not have been worthy to tie the bow-knot of your 
 
 202
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 queue. Vive Dieu, what depths of science! Mme. 
 des Tournelles must carry her head high when you 
 are out walking at Blossac on a Sunday. My legal 
 friend," he continued, suddenly changing his tone, 
 " you have forgotten that I sent for you to ask for 
 counsel, not as a confidant." 
 
 " Mon Dieu, M. le Marquis!" returned M. des 
 Tournelles calmly. " I well understand that such 
 a proposal ruffles your patrician instincts. I can put 
 myself in your place; I understand your repugnance; 
 I accept your objections. And yet, if you will con- 
 descend to think about it, you will understand in 
 your turn that there are necessities to which even 
 the most legitimate pride is sometimes obliged to 
 bow." 
 
 " Say no more, sir," interrupted the marquis in 
 a severe voice that admitted of no reply, but the old 
 fox went on unconcernedly. 
 
 " M. le Marquis," he resumed firmly, " the sin- 
 cere interest, the lively sympathy with which your 
 position inspires me, the respectful attachment I have 
 always felt to your illustrious family, the well-known 
 frankness and honesty of my character, all make it my 
 duty to persist. I should persist, even if, as the price 
 of my devotion, I had to incur your anger or your 
 raillery. Supposing one day you lost your footing and 
 fell into the Clain. Would it not be criminal before 
 God and man if some one, who might save you, did 
 
 203
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 not hold out a helping hand? Well, you have fallen 
 into a gulf a hundred times deeper than the bed of 
 our river, and I should feel that I was utterly failing 
 in my duty if I did not, at the risk of wounding you 
 and hurting you, employ all the means humanly pos- 
 sible to try and snatch you from it." 
 
 " Tut, my good sir! " exclaimed the marquis. 
 " If people want to drown themselves, let them do 
 it in peace. It is better to drown one's self in pure, 
 clean water than to live in dishonour, clinging on 
 by shame." 
 
 " Your sentiments do you honour; I recognise In 
 them the worthy heir of a gallant race. I only fear 
 that you may be exaggerating the dangers of a 
 mesalliance. Rightly or wrongly, one must admit 
 that one's ideas on that subject have been profound- 
 ly modified. M. le Marquis, the times are hard. 
 Although it has been reinstated, the aristocracy is 
 declining; under the factitious brilliance that has 
 lately been restored to it, it already exhibits the 
 aspect of a star that is on the wane. I feel con- 
 vinced that it can only recover its ancient prestige 
 bf renewing its forces in the democracy, which is 
 breaking in on all sides. I have deliberately con- 
 sidered our future for I too am a gentleman and 
 to show you the extent to which I am penetrated 
 with the necessity of allying ourselves with the rab- 
 ble, I have made up my mind to the necessity of 
 
 204
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 marrying my daughter to an usher. What would 
 you have? The aristocracy of to-day is like those 
 precious metals that can only solidify in combining 
 with a grain of alloy. In our day, a mesalliance is 
 simply a lightning-conductor. To condescend to it 
 is to provide one's self with a prop, to be prepared 
 for the tempest. At the present time a very curious 
 see-saw is going on. In twenty years the bourgeois 
 gentleman will have replaced the gentlemanly bour- 
 geois. Would you know the whole of my thought, 
 M. le Marquis? " 
 
 " I am not particularly interested," said the mar- 
 quis. 
 
 "Still I will tell it you," continued the little 
 wretch with assurance. " Thanks to your great 
 name, your great fortune, your great mind, and your 
 grand manners, you are naturally little beloved in 
 the country. You have enemies; what superior man 
 is without them? One would pity the being who was 
 so much an alien in earth and heaven that he had 
 not two or three. According to this reckoning, 
 you have plenty; why should it be otherwise? You 
 are not popular; the reason is plain, since popularity 
 in every instance is the stamp of folly and the crown 
 of mediocrity. In short, you have the honour of 
 being hated." 
 
 "Sir!" 
 
 "A truce to modesty I You are hated. You 
 205
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 serve as a target to the bullets of a crafty party which 
 is growing in audacity every day, and threatens to 
 become the majority in the nation. I would not 
 for worlds repeat to you the base calumnies which 
 this party, who are neither loyal nor law-abiding, 
 are never tired of spreading like venom against your 
 noble life. I know too well the respect you are en- 
 titled to ever to consent to make myself the echo 
 of these cowardly and evil propositions. You are 
 loudly blamed for having deserted the country at a 
 moment when the country was in danger; you arc 
 accused of having carried arms against France." 
 
 " Sir," protested M. de la Seigliere with virtuous 
 indignation, " I have never carried arms against any 
 one." 
 
 " I believe you, M. le Marquis I am sure of it; 
 all honest people are as convinced of it as I am my- 
 self. Unhappily, the Liberals respect no one, and 
 honest men are rare. They delight in pointing you 
 out as an enemy of the public liberty; the rumour 
 is being spread that you detest the Charter; it is in- 
 sinuated that you intend to re-establish the tithe 
 the corvee, and other seigneurial rights in your do- 
 minions. They declare that you have written to his 
 Majesty Louis XVIII to advise him to enter the 
 Chamber of Deputies, booted, spurred, whip in hand, 
 as Louis XIV entered his Parliament. They affirm 
 that you celebrate year by year the anniversary of the 
 
 206
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 battle of Waterloo. They suspect you of being affili- 
 ated to the congregation of the Jesuits. They even 
 go so far as to say that you openly insult the glory 
 of our armies by attaching a tricolour rosette to your 
 horse's tail of a morning. Nor is this all, for calumny 
 would never draw rein in such a fine career; they 
 pretend that old Stamply was the victim of un- 
 worthy intrigues, and that, as the reward of his 
 benefits, you let him die of sorrow. I do not wish 
 to alarm you, and yet I must confess that, as things 
 are now, if a second revolution were to break out 
 and God alone knows what the future has in store 
 for us you would again have to fly in haste, for, 
 if not, M. le Marquis, I will not be answerable for 
 your head." 
 
 "But, sir, I tell you that all this is infamous!" 
 cried M. de la Seigliere, exasperated by the words 
 of the wicked old mischief-maker. " Your Liberals 
 are atrocious scoundrels. I the enemy of public lib- 
 erty! I adore the public liberty. And how am I 
 to set about hating the Charter? I do not even 
 know it. Jesuits, indeed! But, ventre-saint-gris, I 
 have never seen the tail of one. The same with all 
 the rest. I should disdain to reply to such low accu- 
 sations. As to a second revolution," added the mar- 
 quis gaily, like any fool that cackles to reassure him- 
 self, " I presume, sir, that you are joking." 
 
 " Vertudieu, sir, I am not joking at all! " replied 
 207
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 M. des Tournelles sharply. " The future is big with 
 tempests; the sky is charged with livid clouds; polit- 
 ical passions are in the air; the ground is mined be- 
 neath our feet. In very truth, T say, if you do not 
 want to be surprised by the hurricane, -vatch, watch 
 ceaselessly; listen to every rumour; be on your guard 
 night and day; give yourself neither rest, nor truce, 
 nor respite, and have your trunks ready, so that you 
 need only strap them up at the first clap of thunder 
 that tumbles on the horizon." 
 
 M. de la Seigliere grew pale, and looked at M. 
 des Tournelles in terror. After rejoicing for a few 
 moments at the fright he had given the unfortunate 
 gentleman, the tormentor resumed: 
 
 " Do you now, M. le Marquis, perceive the ad- 
 vantages of a mesalliance? Do you begin to see that 
 this marriage between the son of Stamply and Mile, 
 de la Seigliere would be, on your part, a highly 
 politic and significant act? Do you understand that 
 in bringing it about, you change the face of events? 
 You are suspected of hating the people: you give 
 your daughter to the son of a peasant. You are de- 
 nounced as an enemy of our youthful glory: you 
 adopt a child of the Empire. You are accused of 
 ingratitude: you mingle your blood with that of 
 your benefactor. Thus you would confound cal- 
 umny, disarm envy, rally public opinion round you, 
 create alliances in the party that plots your down- 
 
 208
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 fall, secure your head and your fortune against the 
 thunderbolt; finally, you would consummate your 
 old age in the midst of luxury and opulence happy, 
 tranquil, honoured, sheltered from revolutions." 
 
 " Sir," said the marquis with dignity, " if it were 
 necessary, both my daughter and myself could mount 
 the scaffold. They may shed our blood; they shall 
 not sully it while it flows in our veins. We are 
 ready; the aristocracy of France has proved, thank 
 God, that it knows how to die." 
 
 " To die is nothing, to live is less easy. If the 
 scaffold were erected at your door, I would take you 
 by the hand and say, ' Mount up to heaven.' But 
 between this and that, M. le Marquis, think of the 
 evil days to come. Think " 
 
 " Not another word, I beg," said M. de la Sei- 
 gliere, drawing from the pocket of his black satin 
 breeches a little netted purse, which he slipped fur- 
 tively into M. des Tournelles's fingers. " You have 
 amused me enormously," added the marquis; " I had 
 not laughed so heartily for a very long time." 
 
 " M. le Marquis," replied M. des Tournelles, let- 
 ting the purse drop carelessly to the ground, " I am 
 sufficiently rewarded by the honour you have done 
 me in judging me worthy of your confidence; if, in 
 addition, I have succeeded in making you laugh in 
 your present situation, it is my greatest triumph; I 
 remain your obliged servant. At any time when it 
 
 209
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 pleases you to have recourse to my poor inspiration, 
 I will come at a word from you, too happy if, as 
 to-day, I can infuse into your mind some confidence 
 and serenity." 
 
 " You are a thousand times too good." 
 
 " Come, come. You may no longer be at home 
 here; you may in future own neither chateau, park, 
 forests, nor demesne, nor even a corner of ground 
 on which to set up your tent; to me you will still 
 be always the Marquis de la Seigliere, greater in 
 misfortune than you ever were at the climax of your 
 prosperity. I am made that way: misfortune attracts 
 me, adversity draws me. If my political opinions 
 had permitted, I should have accompanied Napoleon 
 to St. Helena. Pray believe that my devotion and 
 my respect will follow you everywhere, and that you 
 will find in me a faithful courtier of misfortune." 
 
 " And on your side, sir, rest assured that your 
 respect and your devotion will be a precious help to 
 me, and a welcome consolation," replied the marquis, 
 pulling the bell-cord. 
 
 M. des Tournelles had risen. On the point of 
 leaving he stopped, cast a complacent glance around 
 him, and took in every detail of the luxurious room 
 in which he was standing. 
 
 " Charming abode, enchanted retreat ! " he mur- 
 mured, as though speaking to himself. " Aubusson 
 carpet, Genoa damask, Dresden china, Boule furni- 
 
 210
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 ture, Bohemian glass, priceless pictures, objects of 
 art, delightful caprices. M. le Marquis, you are in- 
 stalled here like a king. And this park! it is a for- 
 est," he added, approaching the window. " In the 
 spring-time, you must be able to hear the night- 
 ingale singing in the evening from your own fire- 
 side." 
 
 At this moment the door of the salon opened; 
 a lackey appeared on the threshold. 
 
 " Jasmin," said M. de la Seigliere, touching with 
 his foot the purse, that was still lying on the carpet, 
 showing the yellow metal glittering through its 
 meshes like the scales of some golden fish, " pick 
 that up; it is a present to you from M. des Tour- 
 nelles. Farewell, M. des Tournelles, farewell. My 
 compliments to your wife. Jasmin, show monsieur 
 out; you owe him some politeness." 
 
 Whereupon he turned his back without more ado, 
 disappeared behind the double curtain in the bay 
 of the window, and leaned his forehead on the glass. 
 He believed Des Tournelles to be already out of the 
 chateau when the detestable old man, who had 
 slipped in again like a viper, stood up on tip-toe and, 
 with his mouth to the marquis's ear, whispered in a 
 mysterious voice, " M. le Marquis " 
 
 " What! " cried M. de la Seigliere, turning sharp- 
 ly. " Are you still here, sir? " 
 
 "One last word of advice; it is good, the case 
 
 211
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 is serious: if you want to save yourself, marry your 
 daughter to Bernard." 
 
 Whereupon, sent by the marquis to all the devils, 
 M. des Tournelles turned on his heel and went off, 
 followed by the obsequious Jasmin, his cane under 
 his arm, smiling, and rubbing his hands, as happy as 
 a polecat slinking out of a hen-house licking its chops 
 and drunk with carnage. 
 
 Thus, while affecting not to touch the wounds 
 of his victim, or to touch only in order to heal, M. 
 des Tournelles had but envenomed and exposed his 
 sores; and M. de la Seigliere, who had previously 
 felt very sick, was now convinced that his malady 
 was mortal, and that he could not recover from it. 
 Such was the fine result of this memorable consulta- 
 tion: a marquis was drowning; a lawyer passing by 
 assured him that he was lost, and tied a stone round 
 his neck, after dragging him for two hours through 
 the mud, on pretext of saving him. 
 
 Now, the marquis was not the only soul in tor- 
 ment in the valley of the Clain. Not to speak of 
 Mme. de Vaubert, who was not precisely reassured 
 as to the success of her undertaking, Helene and 
 Bernard had, respectively, lost all their peace and 
 serenity. Mile, de la Seigliere had already long been 
 investigating her state of mind with uneasiness. 
 Why had she not dared allude to the presence of 
 Bernard in any of her letters to M. de Vaubert? 
 
 212
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 Doubtless she had been afraid of ridicule from the 
 young baron, who had never been able to tolerate 
 old Stamply. But why had she never dared tell Ber- 
 nard, when the young baron was mentioned, of her 
 approaching marriage with him? Sometimes she 
 seemed to herself to be deceiving them both. 
 Whence came this vague terror or dull indifference 
 that she had for some time felt at the prospect of 
 Raoul's return? Why should his letters, which at 
 first amused if they did not charm her, oppress her 
 now with profound and mortal ennui ? Finally, 
 whence came the feeling of lassitude that over- 
 whelmed her each time she had to reply to them? 
 Her brain reeled at all these questions. It was not 
 merely what was passing within herself that alarmed 
 her; she understood instinctively that something 
 equivocal and mysterious was going on around her. 
 Her father's melancholy, Raoul's sudden departure, 
 his prolonged absence, the baronne's attitude, all 
 alarmed this timid creature whom a breath would 
 have blown away. The brilliancy of her complexion 
 was dimmed; her fine eyes showed dark circles; her 
 amiable temper was altered. As an explanation of 
 the trouble and uneasiness which she felt in Ber- 
 nard's presence, she forced herself to hate him; she 
 recognised that it was since the arrival of this stran- 
 ger that she had lost the calm and limpidity of her 
 girlhood; she accused him in her heart of too humble 
 
 213
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 an acceptance of the hospitality of a family whom 
 his father had plundered; she told herself that he 
 might have found some more noble employment for 
 his youth and courage; she regretted not to see in 
 him more pride and dignity. Then, rallying all her 
 strength and courage round M. de Vaubert, taking 
 thus her conscience for love and her love for hate, 
 she drew back little by little from Bernard, gave up 
 her walks in the park, appeared no more in the salon, 
 and lived in the seclusion of her own room. Thrown 
 on the intimacy of the marquis and the baronne, now 
 that Mile, de la Seigliere was no longer there to 
 conceal by her candour, innocence, and beauty the 
 tricks and intrigues of which he had been the play- 
 thing, Bernard became sombre, bizarre, and irascible. 
 It was at this point that the marquis, taking a reso- 
 lution that served to be designated by all the epi- 
 thets which Mme. de Sevigne heaped upon the pro- 
 posal to marry a grand-daughter of Henri IV to a 
 Gascon cadet, decided suddenly to pass beneath the 
 Caudine forks indicated by M. des Tournelles as the 
 only means of salvation left him in this weary world. 
 
 214
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 FROM the time of his interview with the abom- 
 inable Des Tournelles the marquis lost both sleep 
 and appetite. Thanks to his frivolous and light- 
 minded nature, he had till now been able to keep 
 some hopes, to cherish a few illusions. It is true 
 that he no longer indulged in the lively jokes, the 
 pointed sallies, and gay quips that formerly delight- 
 ed his audience; but still from time to time he man- 
 aged to emancipate himself, to recover here and 
 there a little of the enthusiasm, the verve, and petu- 
 lance of his good-natured, amiable disposition. He 
 was a wounded butterfly, but able still to flutter his 
 wings, when the horrid lawyer, under pretext of put- 
 ting him out of his 'misery, seized him delicately be- 
 tween his fingers and pinned him down, quivering, 
 to the naked boards of reality. Thenceforward the 
 marquis entered on a new form of martyrdom. What 
 was he to do, what part was he to play? If pride ad- 
 vised him to retire with a high hand, egoism gave the 
 contrary advice. If pride had good reasons to bring 
 forward, egoism had equally good, if not better, in 
 reserve. The marquis aged visibly; he was torment- 
 
 215
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 ed with the gout; twenty-five years of exile and pri- 
 vation had cured him of the heroic escapades and 
 chivalrous exaltations of youth. Poverty suited him 
 all the less that he had been intimately acquainted 
 with it; he felt his blood freeze in his veins at the 
 mere recollection of that pale and sullen figure that 
 for twenty-five years had been a guest at his hearth 
 and table; while to complete the tale, he adored his 
 daughter, though he loved no one so well as him- 
 self. His heart was heavy at the thought that this 
 charming creature, after acclimatizing herself to lux- 
 ury and opulence, might sink again into the uncon- 
 genial and icy atmosphere that had enveloped her 
 cradle. He hesitated, and we know more than one 
 who, under these conditions, would have thought 
 twice, without the excuse of a beloved daughter, the 
 burden of sixty-odd years, and the gout. What, how- 
 ever, could he do? Whichever side he turned, M. 
 de la Seigliere saw only shame and ruin. Mme. de 
 Vaubert, who put off all his questions with the words, 
 " We must see, we must wait," was in no way re- 
 assuring. The old gentleman bore a secret grudge 
 against his noble friend for the very ignoble part they 
 had both been playing for the past six months. From 
 another aspect, Bernard's sudden change of attitude 
 had chilled the marquis with terror. Since Helene 
 no longer graced them with her presence, the days 
 dragged slowly, the evenings more slowly still. In 
 
 216
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 the morning, after the breakfast at which Mile, de 
 la Seigliere had ceased to show herself, Bernard, 
 leaving the marquis to his reflections, mounted his 
 horse, and only came back in the evening, more 
 sombre, more taciturn, more unsociable than when 
 he had gone forth. In the evening Helene retired 
 to her room almost immediately after dinner, and 
 Bernard remained alone in the salon with the mar- 
 quis and Mme. de Vaubert, who, having exhausted 
 all the resources of her imagination and profoundly 
 discouraged for the rest, could think of no expedient 
 for shortening the march of the silent hours. Ber- 
 nard had a habit of gazing at them alternately from 
 time to time which made them shiver from head to 
 foot. He who had been so patient as long as Helene 
 had been there to restrain him or soothe him with 
 her smile, now launched out at any casual expres- 
 sion of the marquis or the baronne into rages which 
 terrified them both out of their senses. He had sub- 
 stituted action for narration; he gave battle instead 
 of describing it; and when he had retired, generally 
 in a white rage, without taking the old gentleman's 
 hand, the marquis and the baronne, lejft together 
 by the fireside, would look at each other in silence. 
 " Well, Mme. la Baronne? " " Well, M. le Marquis, 
 we must wait, we must see," Mme. de Vaubert would 
 say yet once more. The marquis, with his feet on 
 the andirons and his nose in the embers, abandoned 
 
 217
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 himself to mute despair, from which the baronne did 
 not even try to extricate him. He expected from 
 day to day to receive his formal congt. Nor was this 
 all. M. de la Seigliere knew, beyond all manner of 
 doubt, that he was, as M. des Tournelles had said, 
 a subject of raillery and derision to the country-side 
 as well as an object of hate and execration. Anony- 
 mous letters, the distraction and pastime of the prov- 
 inces, finally poisoned an existence embittered al- 
 ready by gall and wormwood. Not a day passed 
 without bringing him one of those venomous flowers 
 that grow and proliferate in departmental dung- 
 heaps. In some he was treated as an aristocrat and 
 threatened with the lamp-post; in others he was ac- 
 cused of ingratitude towards his quondam farmer, 
 and of wishing to disinherit the son after having, like 
 a coward and a traitor, despoiled the father. The ma- 
 jority of these letters were decorated with pen-and- 
 ink illustrations, little gems of grace and amenity, 
 which formed a suggestive supplement or comple- 
 ment to the text. For instance, they depicted a 
 stake with a poor wretch, presumably a marquis, 
 impaled upon it, or may-be the same person in con- 
 junction with an instrument much in vogue in '93. 
 To cap this accumulated anguish, the Gazette, which 
 the marquis had read assiduously since his interview 
 with the Poitevin D'Aguesseau, abounded in sinister 
 predictions and lamentable prophecies; the Liberal 
 
 218
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 party was daily represented in it as a match destined 
 to spring inevitable mines on the hardly restored 
 monarchy. 
 
 Thus all the words of the execrable old man 
 were already confirmed, and menaced realization. 
 Alarmed, as one might well be at less, M. de la 
 Seigliere dreamed of nothing but outbreaks and 
 revolutions. At night he jumped up to listen to 
 the wind, which sang the Marseillaise in his ear; 
 when, at last, half dead with fatigue, he succeeded 
 in sleeping, it was to see the horrid countenance of 
 the old jurist peeping through the curtains of his 
 bed, screaming, " Marry your daughter to Bernard! " 
 Now, the marquis was not the man to remain long 
 in a position so galling to all his instincts. He had 
 neither the patience nor the perseverance which are 
 the cement of energetic and strong-minded people. 
 Uneasy, irritated, humiliated, exasperated, weary of 
 waiting when nothing came of it, forced into an im- 
 passe, seeing no exit from it, you might have wagered 
 a hundred to one that the marquis would extricate 
 himself suddenly, by a lightning-stroke; but no one, 
 not even Mme. de Vaubert, could have foreseen the 
 bomb that was about to burst, unless it had been 
 M. des Tournelles, who had lit the match. 
 
 One evening in April, alone with the marquis, 
 Mme. de Vaubert was silent, gazing with visible 
 preoccupation at the fiery sparks that ran up and 
 
 2IQ
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 down the half-consumed embers. You would read- 
 ily have surmised, in watching her, that she was op- 
 pressed by serious uneasiness. Her eye was fixed, 
 her brow weighted with cares; her clenched fingers, 
 of the egoist in extremity, pinched and pulled at her 
 formerly open and smiling mouth. This woman, to 
 tell the truth, had cause enough for serious alarm. 
 From day to day the situation was getting more 
 desperate, and Mme. de Vaubert began to ask her- 
 self if she were not, after all, going to be taken in 
 her own snares. Bernard was distinctly at home 
 here; and while she had not yet lost all hope, while 
 she had not yet, as they say, thrown the handle after 
 the hatchet, still, in view of the probability that an 
 hour might be coming in which M. de la Seigliere 
 and his daughter would be forced to evacuate the 
 place, the baronne was already forming the plan of 
 campaign that she would have to follow in the event 
 of a denouement as fatal as she felt herself bound to 
 anticipate. Not admitting the possibility that her 
 son might marry Mile, de la Seigliere with no dowry 
 other than her youth, her grace, and her beauty, 
 she was already seeking how she might manoeuvre, 
 in regard to Helene and her father, in order to dis- 
 engage the plighted word and the hand of RaouL 
 For some weeks past this had been the subject of her 
 secret preoccupations. 
 
 While Mme. de Vaubert was plunged in these 
 
 220
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 reflections, the marquis, at the other side of the 
 fire, as silent as herself, was considering anxiously 
 what tactics he ought to pursue in the battle he 
 was bent upon declaring how he should set to work 
 to free the word and hand of Helene from Raoul 
 and his mother. 
 
 "That poor marquis!" said the baronne to her- 
 self, examining him covertly from time to time; "if 
 we ever have to come to the point, it will be a 
 terrible blow to him. I know him; he is consoling 
 himself in the thought that, whatever happens, his 
 daughter will be Baronne de Vaubert. He loves 
 me, I know; for nearly twenty years past he has 
 rejoiced in the thought of drawing our intimacy 
 closer, and consecrating it in some sort by the union 
 of our children. Excellent friend ! Where shall I find 
 courage to afflict this tender and devoted heart, 
 to tear out his last illusions? I anticipate desperate 
 fights, bitter recriminations. He will not fail, in his 
 anger, to accuse me of having courted his fortune, 
 and of turning my back on his misfortunes. I must 
 be firm against him and against myself; I shall be 
 able to make him understand that it would be folly 
 to marry our double poverty, inhuman to condemn 
 his race and mine to the gnawing cares of everlast- 
 ing mediocrity. He will get over it; we shall weep 
 together; we shall mingle our tears and our regrets. 
 Afterward there will be the grief of Helene and the 
 
 221
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 remonstrances of Raoul. Alas! these two children 
 adore one another. God had created them for each 
 other. We will make them listen to reason; at the 
 end of six months they will be consoled. Raoul will 
 marry the daughter of some opulent plebeian who 
 will be too happy to ennoble his blood and polish 
 his crown-pieces. As to the marquis, he is too in- 
 fatuated with his ancestors and too wedded to his 
 old ideas ever to consent to a mesalliance. Since he 
 holds by his parchments, well, we will find some 
 rustic for Helene in the neighbourhood, and I must 
 send this good marquis to end his days with his 
 son-in-law." 
 
 Thus Mme. de Vaubert reasoned, should things 
 come to their worst. At the same time, she was 
 still far from giving up her prey. She knew Helene, 
 she had studied Bernard. If she did not suspect 
 what was passing in the young girl's heart Mile, 
 de la Seigliere did not suspect it herself the baronne 
 had read the heart of the young man; she knew more 
 than he of the secret of his agitation. She vaguely 
 divined that something might be made out of the 
 contrast of these two fine natures; she felt that there 
 was something here to find, an incident, a shock to 
 be put in train, an occasion to be contrived. But 
 how? But why? Her reason failed her, and her 
 genius, defeated but not beaten, rebelled against her 
 impotence. 
 
 222
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 " That poor baronne! " said the marquis to him- 
 self, throwing furtive and timid glances at Mme. de 
 Vaubert from afar; " she has no suspicion of the 
 blow I am preparing for her. Taking her all round, 
 she is an amiable and faithful soul, a sincere and 
 loyal friend. I am convinced that she has only 
 sought my happiness in all this; I would swear that, 
 from her own point of view, she has no ambition 
 other than to see her Raoul married to my Helena. 
 Whatever happened, she would hasten to welcome 
 us, my daughter and myself, in her little manor, and 
 would consider herself happy to share her modest 
 pittance with us. So long as her son marries a La 
 Seigliere, it will be enough for her pride, enough for 
 her happiness. Dear, kind friend! On my side, it 
 would have been sweet to realize this charming 
 dream, to end my days near her. When she learns 
 that we must forego this long-cherished hope, she 
 will heap me with cutting reproaches alas! perhaps 
 too justifiable. And yet, would it in all conscience 
 be wise and reasonable to expose our children to 
 the rigours of poverty, to fetter ourselves in one 
 way and another by an iron chain that will wound 
 us sooner or later, and that we shall end by cursing? 
 The baronne is sensible and reasonable enough; 
 when her first impulse has quieted down-, she will 
 understand it all, and will resign herself; and as the 
 Vauberts don't see the joke of a mesalliance Well, 
 ii Vol. 7 223
 
 Mademoiselle dc la Seiglifere 
 
 well, Raoul is a fine young fellow; we shall easily 
 find some rich dowager in the neighbourhood who 
 will esteem herself too happy in securing a second 
 spring with him at the cost of her fortune." 
 
 Thus the marquis reasoned, and, if it must be 
 confessed, the marquis was on thorns he would at 
 that moment have felt more comfortable in a holly 
 bush than on the cushions of his arm-chair. He 
 dreaded Mme. de Vaubert as much as a revolution; 
 he was conscious of his treachery; his heart sank at 
 the thought of the storms he was going to encoun- 
 ter. At last, by a desperate resolution, and taking 
 his courage in both hands, he embarked in a skir- 
 mish, letting off a few stray shots, delivered at long 
 intervals. 
 
 " You know, Mme. la Baronne," he cried in the 
 abrupt way of a man who is little used to this sort 
 of guerrilla warfare, " this M. Bernard is really a 
 very remarkable young fellow. I am pleased with 
 the boy. He is as sharp as powder, as prompt as 
 his sword, strong-headed, even a little hot-tempered, 
 but as loyal and frank as gold. Not exactly good- 
 looking, but then I like that virile type. What eyes! 
 what a forehead! He has the nose of royal races. 
 I should like to know where the rascal got his nose. 
 And have you noticed what a fine, beautiful mouth 
 he has got under his brown mustache? Dieu me 
 pardonne, it is the mouth of a marquis! Wit, dis- 
 
 224
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 tinction, a little brusque still, a little rough, but al- 
 ready refined and almost transfigured since he has 
 been with us. It is thus that gold is purified in the 
 crucible. And besides, no one can deny that he is 
 a hero the stuff of which the Emperor made dukes, 
 and princes, and marshals. I can see him still upon 
 Roland what pluck, what nerve, what intrepidity? 
 Look here, baronne, I won't deny it; I do not feel 
 ashamed of shaking hands with him." 
 
 " Who are you talking about, marquis? " in- 
 quired Mme. de Vaubert indifferently, without in- 
 terrupting the course of her silent reflections. 
 
 " About our young friend," replied the marquis 
 complacently, " our young major." 
 
 " And you were saying? " 
 
 " That nature has strange aberrations, that this 
 boy should have been born a gentleman." 
 
 "Little Bernard?" 
 
 " You really might call him big Bernard," pro- 
 tested the marquis, with his hands in his breeches 
 pockets. 
 
 ;< You are losing your head, marquis," replied 
 Mme. de Vaubert curtly, resuming her attitude of 
 serious meditation. 
 
 Encouraged by so much success, like the prudent 
 warriors who, after discharging their arquebuses, 
 take refuge behind a tree to load their weapons 
 again in safety, the marquis lay snug. There was 
 
 225
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 another long silence, disturbed only by the chirp 
 of the cricket that was singing in the crack of the 
 hearth and by the flickering of the embers that had 
 just burned down. 
 
 " Mme. la Baronne," cried the marquis sudden- 
 ly, " don't you think I have been a bit ungrateful 
 to that good old M. Stamply? I must confess that 
 my conscience is not quite easy on that score. It 
 appears, distinctly, that the worthy man did not re- 
 store anything to me he gave me the whole. If 
 this is so, why, then, do you know, that it is one 
 of the finest acts of devotion and generosity that 
 history has ever recorded on its tablets. Why, ma- 
 dame, this old Stamply was a splendid man, and my 
 daughter and I ought to erect altars to his mem- 
 ory." 
 
 Too deeply engrossed in her egoism even to care 
 what the marquis was driving at, Mme. de Vaubert 
 merely shrugged her shoulders and made no reply. 
 
 M. de la Seigliere was beginning to despair of 
 rinding the joint in her armour when he opportunely 
 remembered the lessons of M. des Tournelles. He 
 stretched out his hand to a lacquer tray, took up 
 a newspaper, and asked absently, pretending to 
 glance through its columns: 
 
 " Mme. la Baronne, have you been reading the 
 news in the papers lately? " 
 
 " Why should I? " replied Mme. de Vaubert with 
 226
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 an impatient little movement; " what interest can all 
 this nonsense have for me? " 
 
 " By the sword of my fathers, madame," ex- 
 claimed the marquis, letting the paper drop, " you 
 take matters very coolly. Nonsense I admit; rub- 
 bish as much as you like, but, vive Dieu! unless I 
 am very much mistaken, this nonsense interests us 
 both a great deal more than you appear to be 
 aware." 
 
 " Well, marquis, what is happening? " asked 
 Mme. de Vaubert, looking bored. " His Majesty 
 condescends to enjoy perfect health; our princes are 
 hunting; there is dancing at court; the people are 
 happy, the rabble have their bellies full. What do 
 you see in all that to alarm us? " 
 
 " Thirty years ago we said exactly the same 
 thing," replied the marquis, opening his snuff-box 
 and delicately inserting his thumb and finger; " the 
 rabble had their bellies full, our princes were hunt- 
 ing, the court was dancing, his Majesty was in good 
 health; all of which in no wise prevented the ancient 
 throne of France from cracking one fine morning, 
 from falling and dragging us down in its fall and 
 burying us, alive or dead, in the ruins. You ask 
 what is happening? What was happening then? We 
 are living on a volcano." 
 
 " You are mad, marquis," said Mme. de Vau- 
 bert, who was immersed in her preoccupations and 
 
 22?
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 for the rest but moderately inclined to embark on a 
 political discussion between eleven o'clock and mid- 
 night, and did not really think it worth while to take 
 up and dispute the old gentleman's opinions. 
 
 " I repeat, Mme. la Baronne, we are on the edge 
 of a volcano. The revolution is not extinct; it is 
 a badly smothered fire that is smouldering beneath 
 the cinders. Some fine day you will see it break 
 out and consume the remains of the monarchy. It 
 is a den where a lot of ragamuffins who call them- 
 selves the representatives of the people are congre- 
 gated; it is a mine dug beneath the throne, and it 
 will explode like a powder-magazine. The Liberals 
 have inherited from the sans-culottes', liberalism will 
 consummate what the revolution of '93 began. It 
 remains to be seen if we shall let ourselves once 
 more be crushed under the ruins of royalty, or if 
 we shall seek our salvation in the very ideas that 
 threaten to engulf us." 
 
 " Well, marquis," said the baronne, " that is just 
 the question. You are busying yourself over an im- 
 aginary revolution, and you don't see that your own 
 house is burning down." 
 
 " Mme. la Baronne," cried the marquis, " I am 
 no egoist. I can say emphatically that personal in- 
 terest has never been my aim or motto. Whether 
 my house burns down or not matters little. It is 
 not I who am in question here, it is the future com- 
 
 228
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 mon to us all. Who would care, in effect, if the 
 race of La Seigliere were to be extinguished silently 
 and forgotten in obscurity? What does matter, 
 madame, is that the aristocracy of France should 
 not perish." 
 
 " I am curious to know how you will set to work 
 to prevent the aristocracy of France from perish- 
 ing," returned Mme. de Vaubert, who, a hundred 
 miles from suspecting the real point of the marquis, 
 could not .suppress a smile when she saw this friv- 
 olous person jauntily advancing such arduous and 
 perilous considerations. 
 
 " It is a serious question that I am capable of 
 raising, but the solution of which is beyond my 
 powers," cried M. de la Seigliere, who, at last feel- 
 ing himself in the right track, advanced with more 
 assurance and soon trotted out gallantly. " And 
 yet, if I were permitted to hazard some few ideas 
 on this important subject, I should say that it is 
 not by isolating themselves in their estates and cha- 
 teaux that the aristocracy can recover the prepon- 
 derance they formerly enjoyed in the destinies of the 
 country. Perhaps I might venture to add, under 
 my breath, that our families have intermarried too 
 long among themselves; that for want of being re- 
 newed, the patrician blood is exhausted; that, in 
 order to recover the strength, the warmth, and the 
 life that are on the point of escaping from it, it needs 
 
 229
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seiglierc 
 
 to be blended with the younger, hotter, more vital 
 blood of the people and the bourgeoisie; in short, 
 Mme. la Baronne, I should seek to prove that, since 
 the age progresses, we must progress with it, under 
 penalty of being left behind on the road or of being 
 crushed in the gutter. It is a hard thought, but we 
 must be courageous enough to face it: the Gauls are 
 carrying the day; the only hope of the Franks lies 
 in the condition of rallying to the party of the 
 victors and of recruiting themselves from their 
 ranks." 
 
 At this point Mme. de Vaubert, who, from the 
 first words of this little speech, had turned gradually 
 round to face the orator, leaned her elbow on the 
 arm of the chair on which she was sitting, and ap- 
 peared to listen to the marquis with curious attention. 
 
 " Would you like to know, Mme. la Baronne," 
 M. de la Seigliere went on, master at length of the 
 situation, " would you like to know what the famous 
 Des Tournelles, one of the largest, most enlightened 
 minds of the century, said to me the other day? 
 ' M. le Marquis,' said this great jurist, ' the times 
 are bad; let us adopt the people in order to make 
 the people adopt us; let us descend to them, so that 
 they shall not ascend to us. The aristocracy of to- 
 day are like those precious metals that can only so- 
 lidify in combining with a grain of alloy.' His 
 thought is so profound that it made me dizzy at first. 
 
 230
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 By dint of considering it, I discovered its funda- 
 mental truth. A cruel truth, I admit, but yet it is 
 better to secure the conquest of the future at the 
 cost of some concessions than to slumber and be 
 buried in the shroud of a past that will never re- 
 turn. Eh, ventre-saint-gris ! " he cried, rising and 
 walking with long strides about the room, " we have 
 been long enough represented in the eyes of the 
 country as an incorrigible caste, rejecting from its 
 breast whatever is not of itself, infatuated with its 
 titles, having neither learned nor forgotten anything, 
 filled with pride and arrogance, the enemy of equal- 
 ity. It is time to end these base calumnies and fool- 
 ish accusations. Let us mingle with the crowd; let 
 us fling open our gates, and let our enemies learn 
 in knowing us to respect us." 
 
 With these words, M. de la Seigliere, terrified 
 at his own audacity, looked timidly at Mme. de Vau- 
 bert and assumed the attitude of a man who, after 
 lighting a train of powder that is to explode a mine, 
 has no time to fly and prepares to receive a ton of 
 rock upon his head. But it fell out otherwise. The 
 baronne, who had a sufficiently poor opinion of her 
 old friend to be suspicious of his probity and can- 
 dour, was still far too preoccupied with her own af- 
 fairs to suppose that there could in this world, at 
 this time of day, exist any ego other than her own, 
 any interest save hers. Without even asking herself 
 
 231
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seiglierc 
 
 whence the marquis had obtained these new and 
 startling views, Mme. de Vaubert at first saw and 
 understood but one thing, namely, that the marquis 
 himself had opened the door by which Raoul might 
 one day escape, upon occasion. 
 
 " Marquis," she cried with effusion, " what you 
 say is most reasonable; and, while I never doubted 
 your strong intellect, while I always suspected a seri- 
 ous and logical mind beneath the grace of your su- 
 perficial aspect, I must admit that I am as surprised 
 as charmed to find you upholding such an elevated 
 and judicious category of ideas. I must compliment 
 you." 
 
 At these words the marquis looked up and gazed 
 at Mme. de Vaubert with the air of a man who has 
 had a handful of roses thrown in his face instead 
 of the grape-shot he was expecting. Too egoistic 
 on his side to think of anything outside himself, he 
 was so far from seeking any reason for the ba- 
 ronne's goodwill that he merely congratulated him- 
 self upon it 
 
 " That is a little the fate of us all," he replied, 
 caressing his chin with admirable fatuity. " Because 
 certain graces have been vouchsafed to us, the ped- 
 ants and prigs revenge themselves for the superior- 
 ity of our manner by denying us intelligence. When 
 we stoop to mix in the fray, we prove to them that 
 every field of battle is the same to us, and that we 
 
 232
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 can nowadays joust with word and thought as for- 
 merly with lance and sword." 
 
 " Marquis," resumed Mme. de Vaubert, who was 
 anxious to keep the conversation to the lines it had 
 started on, " to return to the considerations on 
 which you embarked just now, it is certain that there 
 will be an end of the aristocracy if, instead of seeking 
 to create alliances, it continues, as you have so ex- 
 cellently said, to isolate itself on its own estates and 
 to shut itself up in its pride. It is a tottering edi- 
 fice that will crumble one fine day unless we are 
 clever enough to turn the rams that are battering it 
 into flying buttresses for its support. In other words, 
 if you will pardon the somewhat crude metaphor, 
 if we want to defend ourselves from the attacks of 
 the people, we must be inoculated with it." 
 
 "That's it; pardieu, that's it!" cried M. de la 
 Seigliere, more and more overjoyed at not meeting 
 the opposition he had dreaded. " Distinctly, ba- 
 ronne, you are admirable. You understand the 
 whole question; nothing surprises you, nothing 
 moves you, nothing astonishes you. You have the 
 eye of the eagle; you can look the sun in the face 
 and not be dazzled by it. This poor baronne," he 
 added to himself, " she is putting her foot in it, for 
 all her wits." 
 
 " This worthy marquis," thought Mme. de Vau- 
 bert on her side, " I do not know what bee he has 
 
 233
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 got in his bonnet, but the fool is playing into my 
 hands nicely; he has himself thrown out the net in 
 which, if needs be, I shall take him later. Marquis," 
 she exclaimed aloud, " I have long held these opin- 
 ions, but I confess that I feared, in communicating 
 them to you, to irritate your susceptibilities and 
 alienate your sympathies." 
 
 " To think of it ! " replied the marquis. " What 
 an idea you must have of your old friend, baronne! 
 Why, to begin with, besides the fact that in view 
 of our sacred cause, there is no trial that I would not 
 submit to with resignation, I must avow that I 
 should, for my part, feel no repugnance to show an 
 example by adventuring myself the first in the sole 
 way of salvation that is open to us. I have always 
 set an example: I was the first to emigrate. Other 
 times, other ways. I am not the Marquis of Cara- 
 bas; I move with my century. The people has won 
 its spurs and conquered its titles of nobility; it also 
 has its dukes, its counts, its marquises; Eylau, Wa- 
 gram, Moskowa; these parchments are as good as 
 others. For the rest, Mme. la Baronne, I can ex- 
 cuse your scruples, and I recognise your hesitations; 
 for in my own case, if I have been long in opening 
 my heart to you in this matter, it is because I feared 
 to alarm your prejudices, and to find myself at war 
 with such a faithful friend." 
 
 " This is strange," said Mme. de Vaubert to her- 
 234
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 self. "What is the marquis coming to? Shock my 
 prejudices! " she cried aloud. " Do you take me for 
 a Baronne de Pretintailles? Have I ever refused 
 to imagine all that is grand and noble and generous 
 in the people? Have I ever belittled the bourgeoisie? 
 Am I not well aware that it is with the plebeians 
 that the feelings, the manners, and the virtues of the 
 golden age have taken refuge? " 
 
 " Oh, oh, oh! " thought the marquis, with a 
 dawning of reflection; " this is not all clear. There 
 is some snake in the grass here." 
 
 " As to fighting me, marquis, were you seriously 
 afraid of that?" added Mme. de Vaubert. "But 
 then you thought as badly of my heart as of my 
 intellect. You know well, dear friend, that I am 
 no egoist. I have many a time been on the point 
 of giving you back your word, feeling that, in ex- 
 change for your daughter's opulence, my son would 
 give only a great name, the heaviest of all burdens." 
 
 " What's this? " thought the marquis. " Is this 
 wily baronne, with some inkling of my approaching 
 ruin, attempting to free the hand of her son? Upon 
 my word, that would be too much! Mme. la Ba- 
 ronne," he cried, " that is exactly my own case. I 
 have often accused myself of shackling the future 
 of M. de Vaubert. I have asked myself, in alarm, 
 if my daughter will not be obstacle to the destiny 
 of this noble young man." 
 
 235
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seiglierc 
 
 "Ah, ha! " said Mme. de Vaubert to herself, see- 
 ing dimly through the mists the shore to which the 
 marquis was steering his bark; " can this cunning 
 marquis be trying to trick me? Heaped as he is 
 with my kindness, it would really be too infamous. 
 Indeed, marquis," she replied aloud, " it would 
 cost me dear to break off this charming connection; 
 and yet, if it were exacted by your interests, I should 
 be capable of immolating the sweetest dream of my 
 whole life." 
 
 " She has shown her hand," thought the marquis, 
 "she has tricked me; but it doesn't matter. Only, 
 how could I have anticipated such an act of perfidy 
 on the part of a friend of thirty years? This comes 
 of counting on the disinterested affections and grati- 
 tude of woman! Baronne," he resumed with an ex- 
 pression of painful resignation, " if we had to give 
 up the hope of one day uniting these two children, 
 I should never recover the blow; my heart bleeds 
 even to think of it. And yet, for you, my noble 
 friend, and for your beloved sdn, there is no sacrifice 
 beyond my powers of abnegation and devotion." 
 
 Mme. de Vaubert repressed a cry like that of a 
 wounded lioness; then, after an instant of angry si- 
 lence, she suddenly turned her flashing eyes upon 
 the old gentleman, saying: 
 
 " Marquis, look me in trie face." 
 
 At the tone of these words the marquis trem- 
 236
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 bled like a hare trotting through the heather, which 
 lifts its nose suddenly and sees the sportsman taking 
 a dead shot. He looked at Mme. de Vaubert with 
 an agonized expression. 
 
 " Marquis, you are a knave! " 
 
 "Mme. la Baronne " 
 
 " You are a traitor! " 
 
 " Ventre-saint-gris, madarne " 
 
 " You are an ungrateful wretch! " 
 
 Bowled over, stupefied, M. de la Seigliere sat 
 dumb on his chair. After enjoying his stupor and 
 alarm for a few moments, Mme. de Vaubert at length 
 went on: "I am sorry for you; I will spare you the 
 disgrace of a confession which you could not make 
 without dying of shame at my feet. You have de- 
 termined to marry your daughter to Bernard." 
 
 " Madame " 
 
 ' You have decided on marrying your daughter 
 to Bernard," resumed Mme. de Vaubert authorita- 
 tively. " I have seen this evolution germinating and 
 developing beneath the surface of your egoism for 
 nearly a month past; I have assisted, unknown to 
 you, at its inception. How could you presume to> 
 vie with me in wit and subtlety? How could you 
 not be aware that you would lose in the first round 
 at that game? This evening you betrayed yourself 
 in the very first word you uttered. For a month 
 past I have been watching you, I was waiting for 
 
 237
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 you, I knew what you were coming to. So, M. le 
 Marquis, while I, who hate subterfuge, was exhaust- 
 ing myself for you in every sort of combination; 
 while I sacrificed my tastes, my instincts, even the 
 probity of my character to the care of your interests, 
 you, in despite of your promised word, were plotting 
 the blackest of perfidies against me; you were con- 
 spiring to deliver over to your enemy the affianced 
 of my son and the place that I was defending; you 
 meant to give a treacherous blow to the champion 
 who was fighting for you! " 
 
 " You are going too far, Mme. la Baronne," re- 
 turned the marquis, as confused as a poacher taken 
 in his own snares. " I have resolved on nothing, 
 I have determined on nothing; only, I confess, since 
 I have known that the good M. Stamply made no 
 sort of restitution, but gave me everything, I have 
 felt oppressed by the burden of gratitude; and as I 
 have been racking my brains night and day to dis- 
 cover in what way my daughter and I could dis- 
 charge our debt to the memory of this generous old 
 man, it is possible that the thought had crossed my 
 mind " 
 
 " You, M. le Marquis, you, crushed under the 
 burden of gratitude!" exclaimed Mme. de Vaubert, 
 interrupting him explosively. " Don't talk to me 
 like that unless you are joking. I know you; you 
 are ingratitude itself. You care just as much about 
 
 238
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 the memory of old Stamply as you cared about him 
 when he was alive. To begin with, you owe him 
 nothing; you owe it all to me. Without me, your 
 late farmer would have died without troubling him- 
 self about your existence. Without me, you and 
 your daughter would still be hovering over your 
 little German fireside. Without me, you would 
 never have set foot again in the chateau of your 
 ancestors. You know it all quite well, but you pre- 
 tend not to because, I repeat once more, you are 
 ungrateful. Come, marquis, put your cards on the 
 table. It is not gratitude; it is egoism that moves 
 you. You are furious at marrying your daughter 
 to the son of this farmer; you have grown pale and 
 thin over it, you are shrivelling up. You hate the 
 people; you execrate Bernard; you have understood, 
 you will understand, nothing of the movement that 
 is still going on around us. You are prouder, more 
 arrogant, more obstinate, more prejudiced, more in- 
 fested with aristocratic notions, more incorrigible, in 
 a word, than any marquis of song, vaudeville, or 
 comedy. Marquis of Carabas, you have said it your- 
 self; but your egoism is even greater than your arro- 
 gance! " 
 
 " Well, then, ventre-saint-gris, think what you 
 like ! " cried the marquis, suddenly throwing his cap 
 over the mill. " What I know is, that I am sick 
 of the part you have made me play. I have been 
 
 239
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 revolted by it for a long time. I am exasperated 
 with all these tricks and low manoeuvres. I want 
 to have done with them at any price. Morbleu! you 
 have hit it my daughter shall marry Bernard." 
 
 " Take care, marquis, take care ! " 
 
 " Yes, heap me with scorn and anger; treat me 
 as an ungrateful knave; fling the words egoist and 
 traitor in my face; you may do it, you have the 
 right. You are so disinterested yourself, madame! 
 Throughout this affair you have proved yourself so 
 frank and loyal! At the close of his life, you were 
 so good to poor old Stamply! You surrounded his 
 old age with such loving care, such tenderness and 
 consideration! In all conscience, you owed him that, 
 for it was you who persuaded him to deprive himself 
 of all his wealth." 
 
 " Cruel man, it was for you." 
 
 " For me, for me! " said the marquis, shaking his 
 head. " Mme. la Baronne, unless you are joking, 
 you must not tell me things like that." 
 
 " It well beseems you to accuse me of ingrati- 
 tude," replied Mme. de Vaubert, " you, the recipient 
 who filled the cup of bitterness for the donor." 
 
 " I knew nothing about it ; but you, who knew 
 all, you had no pity." 
 
 " It was you," cried the baronne, " who drove 
 your benefactor from his fireside and his table." 
 
 " It was you," cried the marquis, " you who, after 
 240
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 stealing the confidence of a credulous and defence- 
 less old man, expelled him and let him die of 
 sorrow." 
 
 " You relegated him to the anteroom." 
 
 " You plunged him in his grave." 
 
 " This is war, marquis! " 
 
 "Well, let it be war," cried the marquis; "then 
 I shall not die without having fought once, at any 
 rate." 
 
 " Think what you are about, marquis a pitiless 
 war, war without truce, war without mercy! " 
 
 " War to the death, madame! " said the marquis, 
 kissing her hand. 
 
 With these words Mme. de Vaubert retired, 
 threatening and terrible, while the marquis, left to 
 himself, skipped about for joy in the salon. After 
 she had returned to the manor, after pacing for a 
 long time up and down her room in great strides, 
 beating her forehead and clasping her breast for 
 rage, the baronne suddenly opened the window and 
 stood, like a cat watching a mouse, in front of the 
 Chateau de la Seigliere, of which every pane was at 
 this moment glistening in the moonlight. Although 
 the night was cold, she remained nearly an hour, 
 leaning over the balcony in silent observation. Sud- 
 denly her brow cleared, her eyes lit up, and, like 
 Ajax menacing the gods, she cried, with a gesture 
 of defiance at the chateau, " It shall be mine! " 
 
 241
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 Having said this, the baronne wrote to Raoul a 
 single word, " Come." Then, going to bed, she 
 slept with a smile upon her face such as the genius 
 of evil must wear when he has resolved on the de- 
 struction of a soul. 
 
 242
 
 AFTER this memorable evening Mme. de Vau- 
 bert appeared no more at the chateau, and the 
 chateau did very well without her. During the few 
 days that elapsed before the final catastrophe of our 
 story, the relations between Bernard and the mar- 
 quis were more satisfactory than they had been even 
 at first. No longer irritated by the presence of the 
 baronne, against whom Bernard, in spite of himself, 
 had always cherished a vague sentiment of defiance 
 and smouldering anger, the young man became once 
 more familiar and amenable; while the marquis, on 
 his side, adopted gradually, in these last weeks, a 
 more cordial, more affectionate, almost tender man- 
 ner. They both seemed to have modified their opin- 
 ions and their language, to their mutual satisfaction. 
 In the evening, over the fireside, left tete-a-tete, they 
 conversed and discussed, and no longer quarrelled. 
 Moreover since the disappearance of Mme. de Vau- 
 bert their intercourse took a less political and more 
 intimate turn. The marquis talked of domestic joys, 
 of the felicities of marriage; at times he said things 
 that made Bernard tremble, passing over his heart 
 
 243
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 like warm waves of happiness. At last, one evening, 
 M. de la Seigliere gently insisted that his daughter 
 should remain in the salon instead of withdrawing 
 to her room. When the constraint of the first few 
 moments had been overcome, the evening passed in 
 enchanted hours; the marquis was witty, amiable, 
 and frivolous; Bernard, happy and melancholy; He- 
 lene, dreamy, silent, smiling. Next day the two 
 young people met in the park; the glamour began 
 again more disturbing, it is true, than before, more 
 veiled, yet only thereby more enchanting. 
 
 And yet, how was the question to be opened in 
 regard to Helene? By what roundabout and tortu- 
 ous ways could she be brought to the desired end? 
 For nothing in the world would the marquis have 
 consented to reveal to her the humiliating position, 
 in which they had been living for the last six months 
 with respect to Bernard. He knew her proud and 
 noble nature too well; he knew the soul he had to 
 deal with. And yet it was this simple and honest 
 creature whom he was bent on making the accom- 
 plice of his egoism and treason. 
 
 One day M. de la Seigliere was plunged in these 
 reflections, when he felt two caressing arms around 
 his neck; lifting his eyes, he saw Helene's smiling 
 face, bending like a lily above his head. With a 
 sudden movement of tenderness he drew her to his 
 heart and hald her in a long embrace, covering hen 
 
 244
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 blond hair with kisses and caresses. When she had 
 freed herself from his arms, Helene saw two great 
 tears rolling from the eyes of her father, who never 
 wept. 
 
 " Father," she cried, possessing herself tenderly 
 of his hands, " you have some sorrow that you are 
 hiding from your child. I know it, I am certain of 
 it. This is not the first time I have perceived it. 
 What is it, father? To whose ear, if not to mine, 
 should you confide the sorrows of your heart? Am 
 I no longer your dear daughter? When we were 
 both living in the depths of our poor Germany, I 
 had only to smile and you were comforted. Tell 
 me what it is, father. Something strange and inex- 
 plicable is going on round us. What has become 
 of your amiable gaiety in which I so delighted? You 
 are sad; Mme. de Vaubert seems to be uneasy; I 
 myself am agitated and suffer doubtless because I 
 feel that you are suffering. What is the matter? 
 If my life cannot be laid down for you, do not 
 tell me." 
 
 At the sight of his victim offering herself thus 
 upon the altar of sacrifice, the marquis could no 
 longer contain himself; at the truthful ring of her 
 accents, at the sound of her charming and tender 
 voice, the childish old man burst into tears, to He- 
 lene's consternation. 
 
 " Mon Dieul what has happened? Whatever mis- 
 245
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 fortune has come upon you, can it be greater than 
 my love? " cried Mile, de la Seigliere, throwing her- 
 self into her father's arms and herself bursting into 
 sobs. 
 
 Though he was really moved and sincerely 
 touched, the marquis judged the occasion too favour- 
 able to be neglected, the affair enough in train to 
 be pursued with profit. For a moment he was on 
 the point of telling all, of confessing everything. 
 Shame held him back, and also the fear of running 
 counter to Helene's pride, in which case she would 
 be certain to rebel from the outset against the part 
 reserved for her in this adventure. Once again, 
 therefore, he prepared to turn the flank of the diffi- 
 culty, instead of facing it boldly. Not that this 
 method of campaign was precisely in accordance 
 with his character far from it; but the marquis was 
 unhinged. Mme. de Vaubert had dragged him down 
 a fatal path from which he could not now escape 
 except by trick and subtlety. Once off the broad 
 way, one can only return to it across country or 
 through by-paths. After drying his daughter's eyes 
 and recovering from his own strong emotion, he be- 
 gan, with certain variations, to repeat the scene he 
 had gone through with Mme. de Vaubert, for you 
 must bear in mind that his was not, like that of 
 the baronne, an imagination versed in expedients; 
 at the same time, thanks to recent lessons, the 
 
 246
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 marquis had already more than one trick up his 
 sleeve. 
 
 He therefore began by complaining of the hard 
 times; he lamented the destinies of the aristocracy, 
 whom he represented, in a metaphor as original as 
 it was startling, as a vessel incessantly beaten about 
 by the revolutionary flood. Profiting by the igno- 
 rance of Helene, who had always been kept from 
 preoccupation with public affairs, he depicted in 
 sombre colours the uncertainties of the present, the 
 menaces of the future. 
 
 He employed all the words of the vocabulary in 
 use at that time; he trotted out and paraded all the 
 spectres, all the phantoms despatched by the ultra- 
 royalist journals of a morning to their clients. The 
 ground was mined, the horizon lowering with tem- 
 pests; the hydra of revolution was uplifting its seven 
 heads; the cry, "Down with the chateaux!" was 
 ready to break out at any moment; the people and 
 
 * 
 
 the bourgeoisie, like two devouring hyenas, were 
 merely awaiting a signal to hurl themselves on the 
 defenceless nobility, to gorge themselves with their 
 blood and divide the spoils. It was doubtful if M. 
 de Robespierre were really dead; rumours were 
 abroad that the Corsican ogre had escaped from his 
 island prison. In fact, the marquis produced and 
 piled up everything he thought likely to alarm as 
 youthful imagination. When he had done: 
 12 Vol. 7 2 47
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 " Is that all, father? " remarked Mile, de la Sei- 
 gliere, with a calm, serene smile. " If the ground 
 is mined beneath our feet, if the sky is black, if 
 France, as you say, condemns us and desires our 
 ruin, why do we stay here? Let us return to our 
 dear Germany; let us live there as we did before 
 poor, unnoticed, peaceful. If they are shouting 
 ' Down with the chateaux! ' they must also shout 
 ' Peace to the cottages! ' What more do we want? 
 Happiness thrives on little, opulence is not worth a 
 regret." 
 
 All this did not appeal to the old gentleman, who 
 knew a surer way of touching this loyal heart. 
 
 " My child," he replied, shaking his head, " these 
 are fine sentiments; some thirty years ago I knew 
 no others. I was one of the first who gave the signal 
 for emigration; country, home, hereditary fortune, 
 the demesne of my ancestors I left it all; I did not 
 hesitate to offer this proof of my devotion and fidel- 
 ity to the endangered kingdom. I was young and 
 valiant then. To-day I am old, my Helene; my 
 body betrays my heart, my blood has no more cour- 
 age in it, the blade has eaten up the scabbard. I 
 am only a poor old man, devoured with gout and 
 rheumatism, crippled with pains and infirmities. For 
 fear of alarming your tenderness, I have till now 
 been careful to conceal the pains and sufferings I 
 am enduring. The fact is, my daughter, I can do 
 
 248
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 no more. They think me hale and fresh, brisk and 
 in robust health; to look at me, no one would 
 hesitate to give me another half century to live. 
 Deceitful appearances! From day to day I am 
 drooping and declining. Look at my poor legs, 
 what sticks they are! " he added, putting out a round 
 and vigorous limb with much self-commiseration. 
 " My chest is seriously affected. It is no use con- 
 cealing the matter, I am only a dead trunk that 
 would soon be swept away by any sudden storm." 
 
 " O father, father! what are you saying? " cried 
 Mile, de la Seigliere, throwing herself weeping upon 
 the neck of the new Sixtus Quintus. 
 
 " Come, child," added the marquis, with an air 
 of melancholy, " however great the moral force one 
 has received from Heaven, it is cruel at my age to 
 retrace the path of exile and poverty when one has 
 no longer other hopes, other ambitions here below 
 than to lie down in peace and mingle one's bones 
 with the ashes of one's ancestors." 
 
 " You shall not die, you shall live," said Helene 
 firmly, pressing him to her heart. " God, to whom 
 I pray for you in all my prayers; God, who is just 
 and good, will give you to my love; he will show 
 me the favour of taking my life that yours may be 
 prolonged. As to the other peril threatening us, 
 father, is it as grave and as imminent as you seem 
 to imagine? Allow me to say that you are perhaps 
 
 249
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 alarming yourself a little unnecessarily. Why should 
 the people hate you? Your peasants love you, be- 
 cause you are kind to them. When I pass along the 
 fields they leave off work to greet me kindly ; directly 
 they catch sight of me, the children run up, jumping 
 for glee; more than once, in the cottages, the mothers 
 have taken my hand and carried it to their lips. 
 Those are not people who hate us. You speak of 
 mines, of sinister rumours, of a gloomy outlook. 
 But see, the land is green and flourishing, the heav- 
 ens are blue, the horizon is clear; I hear no cries 
 other than the piping of the finch and the distant 
 song of the hinds and shepherds; I see no revolution 
 save that which the spring has wrought against the 
 winter." 
 
 " Amiable young heart, that sees and hears in 
 this naughty world nothing but the images of na- 
 ture, the harmonies of creation! " said the marquis, 
 kissing Helene's forehead with sincere emotion. 
 " My child," he added, after a moment of silence, 
 " thirty years ago things were going on in the same 
 way. Like to-day, the fields were decking them- 
 selves with verdure and with flowers, the shepherds 
 were piping on the hills, the finches whistled under 
 the budding leaves; your mother, my child, your 
 beautiful, noble mother was, like you, the minister- 
 ing angel of the country-side. And yet we had to 
 fly. Believe my long experience, the future is 
 
 250
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 gloomy and menacing. It is generally under serene 
 skies that men's anger breaks forth and that the 
 bolts of revolution are sped. But even supposing 
 the danger to be still far off; admitting that I have 
 time enough to die under the roof of my fathers 
 can I die in peace in the thought that I am leaving 
 you alone, without help or support, in the midst of 
 the storm and chaos? When I am no longer here, 
 what will become of my darling girl? Will M. de 
 Vaubert be able to protect you in that time of ter- 
 ror? Unhappy children, you both have a name 
 that will attract the thunder-bolts. In marrying, 
 you will but double your chances of fatality; you 
 will only be a burden to one another, an added dan- 
 ger; each of you will have two fates against you in- 
 stead of one; you will each expose the other to the 
 fury of popular hatred. I was talking it over kindly 
 the other evening with the baronne. In our solici- 
 tous alarm, we were wondering mutually whether it 
 were prudent and wise to pursue these matrimonial 
 projects." 
 
 At these words Helene trembled, and turned 
 upon her father the eyes of a frightened fawn. 
 
 " I even seemed to see," pursued M. de la Sei- 
 gliere, " that the baronne would not be averse to 
 giving back my promise and reclaiming her own. 
 ' Marquis,' she said with the reasonableness that 
 never deserts her, ' is not marrying these two chil- 
 
 251
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seiglierc 
 
 dren like setting two doomed vessels to save each 
 other? Singly, they each have a chance, respective- 
 ly, of escaping; they must inevitably perish if their 
 fortunes are united.' That is what Raoul's mother 
 said. I ought also to tell you that it is the advice 
 of the famous Des Tournelles, an old friend of our 
 family, who, without having seen you, takes the 
 greatest interest in your affairs. ' Marquis,' said this 
 great jurist, one of the profoundest minds of our 
 time, to me one day, ' to marry your daughter to 
 young De Vaubert is to seek shelter for her in a 
 storm beneath an oak tree in the middle of the 
 plain; it is calling down the fire of heaven upon her 
 head.' " 
 
 " Father," replied the young lady with cold dig- 
 nity, " M. des Tournelles has nothing to do with 
 this affair; I hardly see that Mme. de Vaubert .her- 
 self can have the right to disengage my hand from 
 that of her son. M. de Vaubert and I are plighted 
 before God to one another. I have his promise, he 
 has mine. God, who received our oaths, can alone 
 absolve us from them." 
 
 " Far from me be the thought," cried the mar- 
 quis, " of wanting to preach treason and perjury to 
 you. I only think that you are exaggerating the 
 gravity and solemnity of the engagements that bind 
 you. You and Raoul are betrothed, neither more 
 nor less; for, as they say in the country, betrothal 
 
 252
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 and marriage are twain. As long as it has not been 
 consecrated by the sacrament, it is always possible 
 to obtain release by mutual desire without falling 
 short in the sight of God or forfeiting honour. Be- 
 fore I married your mother I had been betrothed 
 nine times, the ninth when I was thirteen years of 
 age, the first when I was seven. Besides, my Helene, 
 I should take good care not to cross your inclina- 
 tions. I can well imagine that you cling to young 
 De Vaubert. You were both brought up in exile 
 and poverty; it may seem sweet to you to return 
 to it together. At your age, dear child, there is no 
 perspective so sad that it cannot be enlivened, 
 charmed, and illuminated by passion. To be two, 
 to suffer, and to love makes up the happiness of 
 youth. And yet I have remarked that these attach- 
 ments, formed so near the cradle, miss an indescrib- 
 able something of the charm of love. I do not claim 
 to be an expert in matters of sentiment, and yet I 
 have come to the conclusion that one loves little 
 what one knows well. For the rest, our young 
 baron is an amiable and gracious cavalier, a little 
 cold, a little stiff somewhat of a cipher, if I must 
 say the word but as white as a lily, as red as a 
 rose. He has not hardened his hands with labour, 
 the enemy's fire has not bronzed his face. In par- 
 ticular, he has a mode of arranging his hair that has 
 always charmed me." 
 
 253
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 " M. de Vaubert is an honourable gentleman, 
 father," replied Helene gravely. 
 
 " I think so, pardieu! Yes, a good boy, who 
 has never got himself talked about; a modest hero, 
 who will never weary any one with the tales of his 
 victories. Ventre-saint-gris, daughter," cried the 
 marquis, suddenly changing his tone, " it is a sad 
 thing to say, but it must be said: our young gentle- 
 men of to-day appear to think it beseems only the 
 little people to do great things. In my time the 
 young nobles acted differently, Dieu merci! I who 
 speak to you well, certainly I never saw any right- 
 ing, but by the sword of my fathers, when it was 
 my duty to show myself, I showed myself, and they 
 still speak of me at the court as one of the first 
 among the faithful who hastened to protest, by their 
 presence abroad, against the enemies of our ancient 
 monarchy. See, my daughter, this is what your 
 father did; if I did not cover myself with laurels in 
 the army of Conde, it was because it cost me too 
 dear to gather palms watered with the blood of 
 France." 
 
 " But, father," said Helene in a hesitating voice, 
 " it is not M. de Vaubert's fault if he has lived till 
 now in inaction and obscurity; if he had the heart 
 of a lion, he would not be able to give battle by 
 himself." 
 
 "Bah, bah!" cried the marquis; "souls athirst 
 254
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 for glory can always find a means of quenching their 
 desire. For myself, when I emigrated, I was on the 
 point of going to fight against the Mohicans; if I 
 landed in Germany instead of America, it was be- 
 cause I understood, in the hour of danger, that I 
 owed myself to our beloved France. Look at young 
 Bernard. He is not yet twenty-eight; well, he al- 
 ready wears a ribbon at his buttonhole. He has 
 entered the capitals of Europe as a conqueror; he 
 got himself killed at Moskowa. He was barely 
 twenty years old when the Emperor, who is no fool, 
 whatever they may say, took notice of him at the 
 battle of Wagram. What I am saying, child, is not 
 meant to detach you from Raoul. I do not owe 
 him any grudge for being a good-for-nothing. To 
 begin with, he is a baron; at his age, that is enough 
 in itself. After all, one must not be too ex- 
 acting." 
 
 " Father," said Helene, who was becoming more 
 and more agitated, " M. de Vaubert loves me; he 
 has my promise, and for me that is enough." 
 
 "As to that, he may love you; I believe it 
 the rather that I have never seen a sign of it; 
 hidden fires are the most redoubtable; only I 
 know that in his place I should not have gone 
 off to amuse myself in Paris the very day after 
 this young hero had installed himself under your 
 roof."
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 " Father " exclaimed Helene, blushing like a 
 pomegranate. 
 
 " It is true that Raoul sends you a letter once 
 a month. I have only read one a nice style, amber 
 paper, good spelling, exact punctuation; but, vwt 
 Dieut daughter, I must beg you to believe that in 
 my time we did not write thus to the tender object 
 of our passion." 
 
 " Father " repeated Mile, de la Seigliere in a 
 pleading voice, but half smiling. 
 
 Whereupon, judging the place sufficiently dis- 
 mantled, the insidious marquis returned to his first 
 batteries. He pointed out that in this time of ordeal 
 the only chance of escape for the aristocracy was 
 to contract alliances beneath its rank. He played 
 off upon his daughter the role that the malicious 
 Des Tournelles had played on him some few months 
 before. He depicted himself as once more poor, in 
 exile, proscribed, beggared like Belisarius, dying far 
 from his country. Once more he brought the tears 
 to Helene's eyes; then, by a skilful transition, he 
 began to speak of old Stamply; he dwelt with emo- 
 tion upon the probity of his ancient farmer, and re- 
 gretted that he had not sufficiently recompensed him 
 in his lifetime. He knew how to awaken the scru- 
 ples of this young heart without awakening its sus- 
 picions. From father to son was but a step. He 
 praised Bernard, representing him alternately as a 
 
 256
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 dike against the fury of the tempest and as a shelter 
 from the storm. In short, from one subterfuge to 
 another, step by step, hand over hand, he arrived 
 imperceptibly at his end, which was to ask himself 
 aloud in the guise of a reflection whether, in these 
 evil days, an alliance with the Stamplys might not be 
 more advantageous, and offer greater security to 
 the La Seiglieres than an alliance with the De Vau- 
 berts. The marquis had reached this point in his 
 discourse when he suddenly interrupted himself on 
 seeing Helene so pale and trembling that he thought 
 he had killed her. 
 
 " Come, come," said the marquis, taking her in 
 his arms, " I am not an executioner. Have I spoken, 
 like Calchas, of dragging you to the sacrifice and 
 immolating you on the steps of the altar? Deuce 
 take it, you are not Iphigenia, I am not Agamem- 
 non! We are talking, arguing, nothing more. I 
 quite understand that the first idea of a mesalliance 
 must shock and revolt a La Seigliere; but, my child, 
 I urge it again; think of yourself, think of your old 
 father, think of the devotion of Mile, de Sombreuil. 
 This young Bernard is not a gentleman; but who is 
 a gentleman nowadays? In twenty years no one will 
 even stoop to pick up a title. I wish you could hear 
 M. des Tournelles talk on this subject. ' He who 
 serves his country well needs no ancestors/ said the 
 sublime Voltaire. Besides, there have been mesalli- 
 
 257
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 ances in every generation. The great families only 
 live and perpetuate themselves by mesalliances. To 
 take the Normans: a king of France Charles the 
 Simple married his daughter Gisela to one Rollo, 
 who was only a leader of vagabonds, thereby show- 
 ing that he was less simple than history makes out. 
 Quite recently a soldier of fortune was married to a 
 daughter of the Caesars. And, further, it will have 
 a good effect on the country if you marry a Stam- 
 ply; people will see that we are not ungrateful; they 
 will say that we know how to appreciate a good 
 action. For my part, when I get up yonder and 
 find myself face to face with the old farmer, well, 
 I confess that it would not be disagreeable to be 
 able to announce to the good man that his probity 
 has received its earthly reward, and that our two 
 families will make one henceforward. That will 
 please the worthy man, too, for he adored you, He- 
 lene; you were a couple of friends. Did he not even 
 sometimes call you his daughter? At that rate he 
 ranks among the prophets." 
 
 The marquis had been talking like this for a 
 quarter of an hour, endeavouring to overcome his 
 daughter's repugnance by displaying every trick and 
 turn and subtlety he had learned in the school of the 
 baronne, when Helene, who had slipped gradually 
 out of her father's arms, fled all at once as rapidly 
 and lightly as a bird on the wing. The marquis was 
 
 258
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 left open-mouthed in the middle of a sentence; he 
 saw her run across the lawn and disappear amid the 
 trees of the park. 
 
 After following her for a long time with his eyes, 
 the marquis asked himself, as he tapped his forehead 
 with an air of reflection: " Is it possible that my 
 daughter is in love with the hussar? That she should 
 marry him one can understand; but that she should 
 love him ventre-saint-gris ! " 
 
 259
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 AND why did Mile, de la Seigliere escape thus 
 suddenly from the arms of her father? Why did her 
 countenance assume the pallor of death some few 
 
 moments before? Why did the blood course back 
 
 
 
 instantly and violently towards her heart? Why, 
 when the marquis was trying to convince her of the 
 necessity of an alliance with Bernard, did she escape, 
 agitated, trembling, confused and yet lively, happy, 
 and light-hearted? When she reached the bottom 
 of the park she let herself sink upon a mound, while 
 the tears ran silently down her cheeks like liquid 
 pearls, like drops of dew upon the perfumed petals 
 of a lily. Thus love and happiness veil their first 
 smile in tears, as though at birth they had some in- 
 stinct of their fragility, and knew that they were 
 born to suffering. 
 
 It was now the end of April. The park not being 
 large enough to satisfy the intoxication of her spirit, 
 Helene rose and went out into the country. The 
 ground beneath her feet was covered with flowers; 
 the blue sky smiled above her head; life was singing 
 in her veins. She had forgotten Raoul, and scarcely 
 
 260
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 gave a thought to Bernard. She roamed about, ab- 
 sorbed in vague, mysterious, enchanting thoughts, 
 pausing here and there to breathe in the perfume, 
 and giving thanks to God for the joy that flooded 
 every instinct of her soul. As we have already said, 
 she was as serious as she was tender, and profoundly 
 religious. 
 
 It was not till the sun was low upon the hori- 
 zon that Helene thought of making her way back 
 to the chateau. In returning, she paused a moment 
 on the brow of the hill she had climbed up, when, 
 as she was preparing to descend, she espied Bernard, 
 on horseback, riding along the valley. She trembled 
 a little, and her troubled gaze followed him for a 
 long way through the plain. She came back reflect- 
 ing on the destiny of this young man, whom she be- 
 lieved to be poor and disinherited. For the first time 
 Mile, de la Seigliere felt pride and pleasure in the 
 sight of her father's mansion, as it lay bathed in the 
 rays of the setting sun, in a sea of verdure rippled 
 by the evening breezes. Yet, as she perceived the 
 little Castel de Vaubert on the opposite bank, frown- 
 ing and gloomy behind the rampart of oaks, whose 
 boughs had not yet put forth their spring livery, she 
 could not avoid a feeling of sadness and alarm, as 
 though foreseeing it to be from this quarter that the 
 thunder-bolt that was to blast her life would be 
 hurled. 
 
 261
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 Nor had she long to anticipate the bolt. As she 
 stepped over the threshold of the park gate she was 
 met by a servant of the baronne, who delivered her 
 a packet, sealed with the triple seal of the De Vau- 
 bert arms. When she recognised the writing of the 
 young baron, who had returned the night before, 
 unknown to Helene, the poor child grew pale and 
 tore the envelope open with a trembling hand, when 
 she found, amid her own letters returned to her by 
 Raoul, a note from that young gentleman. Helene 
 perused its recently blotted pages, the ink of which 
 was hardly dry, and, having read it on the spot, re- 
 mained thunder-struck, as though a bolt from heaven 
 had really fallen at her feet. 
 
 Like the automata that appear and disappear at 
 the will of the operative who presses a spring, M. 
 de Vaubert had returned, as he had left, at a word 
 from his mother, with the same smile upon his lips, 
 the same knot in his cravat. Without being in any 
 sense a phoenix, he was, taking him all round, an 
 upright gentleman, honest and single-minded at 
 heart. Not only had he neVer taken part in his 
 mother's intrigues, but, thanks to the modicum of 
 intelligence and perspicacity bestowed on him by 
 Heaven, he had never even suspected them. Up till 
 now he had naively thought, like Helene, that old 
 Stamply, in despoiling himself, had merely restored 
 to the La Seiglieres the property that did not be- 
 
 262
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 long to him, and that, in doing this, the old man 
 had simply obeyed the dictates of his conscience. 
 Raoul had never, to tell the truth, paid much at- 
 tention to this affair, and had only seen its results, 
 which, honestly speaking, did not displease him. A 
 poor man, he was born with a taste for opulence, 
 and saw no harm in framing a lovely picture to the 
 tune of a million. At the same time, he loved He- 
 lene less for her fortune than for her beauty ; he loved 
 her after his fashion, coldly but nobly, without pas- 
 sion, but without calculation. Besides, he knew the 
 value of a promise given and received; the breath 
 of viler interests had never rubbed the bloom off his 
 youth and honour. When he was informed of what 
 had happened in his absence, of the miraculous resur- 
 rection of young Stamply, of his return to the coun- 
 try, his installation at the chateau, his incontestable 
 rights, which inevitably involved the total ruin of 
 the marquis and his family, M. de Vaubert did not, 
 as may be imagined, indulge in any great transports 
 of enthusiasm. His face lengthened considerably, 
 and the play of his countenance expressed only 
 mediocre satisfaction; but when, after posting him 
 in the exact state of affairs, Mme. de Vaubert asked 
 her son resolutely what part he intended to take at 
 this crisis, the young man drew himself up and did 
 not hesitate for an instant. He declared simply, 
 without effort and without enthusiasm, that the ruin 
 
 263
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 of the marquis did not make the slightest alteration 
 in the engagements he had contracted with the 
 daughter, and that he was as ready now as before 
 to marry Mile, de la Seigliere. 
 
 " I expected no less from you," replied Mme. de 
 Vaubert proudly; " you are my worthy son. Unfor- 
 tunately, this is not all. The marquis, in order to 
 preserve his wealth, has determined to marry his 
 daughter to Bernard." 
 
 " Well, mother," returned M. de Vaubert, with- 
 out showing any sign of emotion, " if Mile, de la 
 Seigliere feels that she can withdraw her hand from 
 mine without forfeiting her honour, let Mile, de la 
 Seigliere be free to do so, but I shall only cease to 
 consider myself engaged to her when she shall the 
 first have ceased to consider herself engaged to me." 
 
 " You have a noble nature," cried the baronne 
 with a gesture of satisfaction, as she perceived that 
 the affair was going to turn out as she had intended. 
 " Write, then, to that effect to Mile, de la Seigliere. 
 Be dignified, but be also affectionate, so that they 
 may not suppose you have written merely to satisfy 
 your conscience. When that is done, and whatever 
 happens afterward, you will have worthily fulfilled 
 the duties of a faithful lover and a gallant gentle- 
 man." 
 
 Without more delay, M. de Vaubert placed him- 
 self at the bureau, and wrote the following lines upon 
 
 264
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 a pretty note-paper he had brought back from Paris, 
 cream-laid, scented with musk, stamped with the 
 arms of the family lines to which the baronne, after 
 glancing through the letter, gave her maternal ap- 
 probation, although she would have wished to find 
 more passion and tenderness. Thus were hostilities 
 declared. In the hands of the adroit baronne, this 
 double sheet of shining, embossed, and perfumed 
 paper, covered on the first page with a fine English 
 caligraphy, was nothing less than a bomb which, 
 when thrown into the fortress, was destined to do 
 damage that had been foreseen and calculated, the 
 effect of which was almost certain. 
 
 " MADEMOISELLE: I have just arrived, and I 
 learn simultaneously of the revolution that has trans- 
 pired in your destiny, and the new measures adopted 
 by your father to replace the inheritance of his an- 
 cestors upon your head since he has been deprived 
 of it by the return of the son of his quondam farmer. 
 That, to this end, M. le Marquis should have taken 
 upon himself to disjoin two hands and two hearts 
 united ten years ago before God, is a matter to be 
 judged by God alone; I abstain from doing so. Nor 
 for the rest is it meet that poverty should set itself 
 in the scales against fortune. Only, it pertains to 
 my honour, and that far less than to my love, to 
 declare to you, mademoiselle, that if you do not 
 
 265
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 share the sentiments of your father in this matter, 
 and do not, like him, think that an oath sworn is 
 merely an idle word, I shall be as happy to share 
 my modest conditions of life with you as you would 
 have been to share your luxury and opulence with 
 me. To this confession, the sincerity of which you 
 will not outrage me by doubting, I shall add no 
 further word; henceforward it is for you alone to 
 decide on your fate and my own. If you reject my 
 humble offering, take back these letters, which are 
 no longer my property; I will suffer without com- 
 plaint or murmur. If, on the other hand, you con- 
 sent to come and embellish my life and home, send 
 back these precious pledges. I shall fold them with 
 joy and gratitude to my faithful and devoted heart. 
 
 " RAOUL." 
 
 Thus violently confronted with reality, Helene 
 hesitated no more than Raoul had hesitated. When 
 she emerged from the kind of stupor into which she 
 had fallen after reading these few lines, she hurried 
 to her room, where, inflexibly stifling the dream that 
 had lasted scarce an hour a ray extinguished as 
 soon as perceived, a flower broken at the moment of 
 its bloom she took a pen to write herself, sign the 
 death-warrant of her own happiness; not, however, 
 finding the courage for this, she contented herself 
 with putting the letters into an envelope and sending 
 
 266
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 them back immediately to Raoul. When that was 
 done, she hid her face in her hands and could not 
 prevent herself from shedding a few tears, different 
 indeed, alas! from those that had escaped her in the 
 morning. Beneath the melancholy of a vague and 
 hardly defined regret she soon, however, felt a dumb 
 uneasiness stirring and muttering in her breast. In 
 first glancing through the letter of M. de Vaubert 
 she had seen and understood but one thing clearly, 
 which was that the young man solemnly reminded 
 her of her pledged troth, on pain of perjury and 
 treason; in the exaltation of her conscience Helena 
 had overlooked the rest. But once calmed by her 
 sacrifice, her mind more tranquil, her senses quieted, 
 she little by little recollected certain expressions in 
 the letter of her fiance, on which she had not dwelt 
 at first, but which had left a confused and painful 
 impression upon her. 
 
 As these memories surged up and became more 
 and more distinct, she suddenly drew Raoul's note 
 out from between her dress and sash, where she had 
 slipped it, doubtless to strengthen and protect her 
 heart; after reading it once more attentively, after 
 measuring each word and weighing each sentence to 
 obtain its full meaning, Mile, de la Seigliere read it 
 yet once more; then, passing insensibly from surprise 
 to reflection, she ended by losing herself in profound 
 meditation.
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 She was a single-minded, pious, and fervent crea- 
 ture, an immaculate soul that had never touched the 
 mire of life with even the tips of its pinions. She 
 cherished all manner of illusions. She believed in 
 good naturally, without effort, and had never sus- 
 pected evil. To tell the truth in a word, her artless 
 candour was so great that she had never even sus- 
 pected the loyalty, good faith, and disinterestedness 
 of Mme. de Vaubert herself. And yet, since the 
 arrival of Bernard, she had vaguely understood that 
 something equivocal and mysterious was going on 
 around her. Though her nature was neither curious 
 nor suspicious, she had been dimly preoccupied with 
 this, more especially since her father had become so 
 altered and depressed in temper he who had always, 
 even in the depths of exile, been joyous, smiling, 
 frivolous, and charming. She had been astonished 
 at the sudden disappearance of Raoul, and at his 
 prolonged absence, no sufficient reason for which 
 had been given her; she had not failed to remark 
 the sudden changes that had all at once taken place 
 in the social arrangements of the marquis and the 
 baronne, from the day that Bernard had begun to 
 share the family life ; while, lastly, she had often asked 
 herself, in hours of trouble and perplexity, how it was 
 that this young man, in the heyday of life, could so 
 long accept those precarious and humiliating condi- 
 tions instead of trying to make himself an inde- 
 
 268
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 pendent position, as beseemed his energetic, haughty 
 character. What was happening? Helene did not 
 know, but it was evident that something strange 
 was going on which they were endeavouring to hide 
 from her. The letter of the young baron was like 
 a flash in a dark night. If, in thinking it over, Mile, 
 de la Seigliere did not guess the whole truth in all 
 its bearings, at least she saw it shining out as a 
 luminous point which, while almost imperceptible, 
 directed her in her investigations. Once on the right 
 track, Helene remembered certain unfinished sen- 
 tences that had escaped old Stamply in the course 
 of his long death agony, of which she had vainly 
 tried to make out the meaning. She recollected 
 every detail of the obsequious, more than hospitable, 
 welcome that had been given to the son on his return, 
 after humiliating the old age of the father. In short, 
 she passed the letter from Raoul, like a torch, over 
 all the incidents that had characterized the return 
 of Bernard. Going from episode to episode, she 
 finally asked herself why the baronne had retired 
 from the chateau for the last week or more; why 
 M. de Vaubert, instead of writing, had not presented 
 himself in person; till, finally, when she came to the 
 interview she had had some hours previously with 
 her father, the indignant blood mounted up into her 
 face, and, rising proudly, she walked out of the room 
 with a firm step to find the marquis. 
 
 269
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 AT the same hour, seated near a round table, 
 our marquis, waiting for his dinner, was engaged 
 in soaking crumbs of biscuit in a glass of Spanish 
 wine. Though his pride was cruelly wounded, he 
 still had a good appetite, and enjoyed the sense of 
 well-being and satisfaction that comes from submit- 
 ting to a painful operation from which one has long 
 shrunk back. He had done with the baronne; had 
 pretty well made sure of his daughter's inclinations; 
 as to Bernard's feelings, he did not trouble himself 
 on that score. Little experienced, as he had said 
 himself, in matters of sentiment, the marquis under- 
 stood enough to have seen for some time that the 
 hussar was not insensible to Helene's beauty; be- 
 sides, he would like to see this son of a vassal other 
 than overjoyed at mingling the blood of his fathers 
 with that of his ancient seigneurs. On that point 
 he was easy; only he was distressed at not encoun- 
 tering more obstacles and more resistance on the 
 part of his daughter. The idea that a La Seigliere 
 could love a Stamply plunged him into consterna- 
 tion impossible to describe; it was the very dregs of 
 
 270
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 the chalice. Let the hand make a mesalliance, but, 
 vive Dieu! one can at least keep the heart out of it, 
 he said to himself indignantly. On the other hand, 
 what delighted him in the affair was the effect which 
 the news would have on Mme. de Vaubert and her 
 great booby of a son in their little castle. As he 
 reflected over it, the naughty marquis rubbed his 
 hands and fell back in his chair in ecstasies of mirth; 
 remembering what the baronne had so often re- 
 peated to him, that Paris was worth a mass, he ex- 
 ploded with laughter at the thought that everything 
 was going to end in a mass in a wedding mass. 
 
 He was in one of these fits of merriment when 
 the door of the salon opened, and Mile, de la Sei- 
 gliere entered, so grave, so proud, so truly regal, 
 that the marquis, after rising to embrace her in his 
 caressing arms, remained standing in confusion be- 
 fore her. 
 
 " Father," said the beautiful, noble girl, in a 
 voice that was calm, though altered, " answer me 
 frankly, loyally, as a gentleman. Whatever you may 
 have to reveal to me, be sure beforehand that you 
 will never find me fall short in the duties and obli- 
 gations that the protection of your honour may im- 
 pose upon me. Answer me, then, without equivo- 
 cation, I implore you in the name of the Living God, 
 in the name of my sainted mother, who sees us and 
 can hear us.** 
 I3 _ V ol. 7
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 " Ventre-saint-gris ! " thought the marquis, " this 
 beginning augurs no good for me." 
 
 " Father," asked the young girl with determina- 
 tion, " by what right is M. Bernard living in the 
 midst of us? " 
 
 " What a question! " exclaimed the marquis, 
 growing more and more alarmed, but still keeping 
 a good countenance. " On the footing of guest and 
 friend, I suppose. We owe so much to the memory 
 of his good father that no one can be surprised at 
 his sitting down to table with us. By the way," he 
 added, drawing from his fob a gold, enamelled watch, 
 hung to a chain laden with trinkets, rings, and seals, 
 " is that scoundrel Jasmin never going to announce 
 dinner to-day? You see this little jewel? " he added. 
 " Look at it it seems to be nothing; in fact, it is 
 hardly worth an ecu. I would not part with it for 
 all the diamonds of the crown. That is a story I 
 must tell you. One day, in 17 " 
 
 " Father, you have another story to tell me 
 now," said Helene gravely, interrupting him with a 
 high hand, "a more recent story, in which, too, a 
 jewel is involved, but a more precious jewel even 
 than this one, namely, our honour. You reply that 
 M. Bernard is our guest, but, father, I have still to 
 learn whether it is he or we that are receiving hos- 
 pitality; he or we that are dispensing it." 
 
 At these words and at the look Helene directed 
 272
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 on him, the marquis, whiter than the lace of his frill, 
 sank heavily into a chair. 
 
 "All is lost!" he said to himself in gloomy de- 
 spair; " the infuriated baronne has spoken." 
 
 " Well, father," resumed the young lady firmly, 
 crossing her arms on the back of the chair into which 
 M. de la Seigliere had collapsed, " I ask if we are the 
 guests of M. Bernard, or if the young man is staying 
 with us?" 
 
 Sick of cheating and lying, sure, moreover, that 
 his daughter was acquainted with the whole affair, 
 the marquis now thought only of amending the 
 truth, of mitigating as best he could whatever proved 
 too bitter for his pride and self-esteem. 
 
 " On my faith," he cried, rising with an air of 
 exasperation, " if you insist on my telling you, I 
 don't know myself. They took advantage of my; 
 absence to draw up a code of infamous laws. M. 
 Bonaparte, who never loved me, slipped in one arti- 
 cle specially designed to embroil my affairs. And 
 the Corsican succeeded well. Some say I am in Ber- 
 nard's house, others affirm that Bernard is in mine; 
 some that old Stamply gave me everything, others 
 that he restored all to me. All this, you can see, 
 comes out of the ink-bottle; Des Tournelles does 
 not know what to think of it; the devil would losd 
 his Latin over the case. For the rest, my daughter, 
 it is as well that you should know that it is that 
 
 273
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 confounded baronne who has got us into this mes*. 
 Remember how happy we were together in Ger- 
 many! Well, one day Mme. de Vaubert it is time 
 you learned to know her takes into her head to 
 want me to recover the fortune of my fathers, know- 
 ing well that by the terms of our agreement it would 
 all revert to her son. She writes that my quondam 
 farmer is devoured with remorse, that he is implor- 
 ing me to return, and will only be able to die in 
 peace when he has made restitution of all my prop- 
 erty. This I believe. I take pity on the distressed 
 conscience of this worthy man, I do not want any 
 one to accuse me of causing the death of a soul. 
 I start, I hasten, I arrive here, and what do I dis- 
 cover one fine morning? That this worthy man has 
 restored me nothing, and that it was a present he 
 made over to me. At least, that is what my enemies 
 say. I have enemies, for, indeed (as Des Tournelles 
 observed), what eminent man has not? At this pass, 
 Bernard, who was believed to be dead, tumbles upon 
 us like an iceberg from Siberia. What is going to 
 happen? M. Bonaparte has arranged matters so 
 well that it is impossible to know how one stands. 
 Am I Bernard's guest? Is Bernard mine? I do not 
 know, he does not know; Des Tournelles himself 
 knows no more than we do. That is the story, and 
 that is the position." 
 
 Hclcne had grown up outside the preoccupations 
 274
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 of real life. She had no suspicion of the positive 
 interests that play such a large part in human exist- 
 ence, which they almost entirely absorb. Not hav- 
 ing received other teaching than that of her father, 
 whose ignorance was the most complete, the most 
 serene, and the most flourishing of any in the king- 
 dom, Mile, de la Seigliere's acquaintance with the 
 law of France was about equal to her notions of 
 Japanese legislation. Yet this child, who knew noth- 
 ing, possessed a science greater, more sure and more 
 infallible, than that of the cleverest jurists, the most 
 consummate lawyers. Honest and simple at heart, 
 she had retained as pure, as limpid, and as lumi- 
 nous as when she received it that sense of justice 
 and injustice which God has implanted like a ray of 
 his supreme intelligence in the breast of all his 
 creatures. She was ignorant of the laws of man, 
 but the natural and divine laws were written in her 
 heart as upon tablets of gold, and no evil breath, 
 no wicked passion, had altered their meaning or 
 tarnished the sacred characters. Hence she was able 
 instinctively to disentangle the truth from the clouds 
 in which her father sought to envelop it; beneath 
 the embroidery she was able to trace the web. While 
 the marquis was speaking, Helene remained stand- 
 ing, calm, impassive, pale, and cold. When he was 
 silent, she went over and leaned on the marble chim- 
 ney-piece, where she stood for a long time in silence, 
 
 275
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 her fingers buried in the meshes of her hair, staring 
 with dumb horror at the precipice into which she 
 had been precipitated like a dove that is mortally 
 wounded as it skims through the azure heavens, and 
 falls, with its wing broken, bleeding, and palpitating, 
 into the reeds of some foul morass. 
 
 " And so, father," she said at last, without chang- 
 ing her attitude and without turning her eyes towards 
 the unfortunate gentleman who, not knowing to 
 what saint he could address his prayers, was hover- 
 ing round his daughter like a soul in purgatory, " so 
 this old man, whose life ended sadly in loneliness and 
 sorrow, had despoiled himself to make us rich? Ah, 
 thank God that he inspired me to love this generous 
 man, since without that our benefactor would have 
 died without one friendly hand to close his eyes! " 
 
 " What was to be done? " exclaimed the marquis 
 in confusion; " the baronne showed horrible ingrati- 
 tude in all this. I loved the old man; I delighted 
 in him; I thought him a good sort; I took real pleas- 
 ure in seeing him. Well, the baronne could not en- 
 dure him. In vain I said: ' Mme. la Baronne, this 
 old Stamply is a fine fellow; he has done us a good 
 turn; we owe him some consideration.' If I had 
 listened to her, I should have ended by turning him 
 out of the house. The King himself might have 
 begged me to do that and I would never have con- 
 sented." 
 
 276
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 " Then," resumed Helene after a further silence, 
 " when this young man presented himself armed with 
 his rights, instead of loyally restoring him the prop- 
 erty of his father and withdrawing with a high hand, 
 we succeeded by our obsequiousness in gaining his 
 consent to our staying with him, to his permission 
 to live under his roof. You made an accomplice 
 of your daughter, who knew nothing! " 
 
 " I wanted to go," cried the marquis. " As soon 
 as Bernard was announced I took my hat and cane. 
 It was the baronne who prevented me; it is she who 
 has cheated us all; it is she who has destroyed us." 
 
 Hereupon Helene turned proudly, ready to ask 
 her father for some explanation of the conversation 
 they had held together in this very room, but the 
 words expired upon her lips, her breast swelled, her 
 forehead became crimson, and, flinging herself into 
 a chair, she burst into tears, choking with the vio- 
 lence of her sobs. Was this only the protest of her 
 wounded pride? Were the sighs of stifled love not 
 mingled with the expression of offended dignity? 
 The purest, the most virginal heart is an abyss no 
 plumb can fathom, whereof none has gauged the 
 depths. At sight of his daughter's despair, the be- 
 wilderment of the marquis reached its height. He 
 cast himself down at Helene's knees, taking her 
 hands, which he covered with kisses, weeping himself 
 like any baby. 
 
 277
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 "My child, my treasure!" he said, taking her 
 in his arms; "be calm. Think of your poor old fa- 
 ther! do not make him die of sorrow at your feet. Do 
 you want to go? Let us go. Let us live together 
 in the woods like savages; if you would rather, let 
 us go back to our old home in Germany. What 
 do I care for fortune, if only you will leave off cry- 
 ing? Fortune! As if I cared for that! If I sell 
 my jewels, my watch, and my trinkets, there will 
 always be enough left for my Helene's flowers. Let 
 us go anywhere. I shall be well off wherever you 
 smile upon me. I told you this morning that I was 
 at my last gasp. I was lying. I have iron health. 
 Look at my calf; would you not say that it was 
 bronze, cased in a silk stocking? This winter I killed 
 seven wolves; I tired o.ut Bernard when he tried to 
 follow me, and I hope to bury the baronne, who is 
 fifteen or twenty years younger than I as she pre- 
 tends, at least, for I know her too well now to be- 
 lieve more than half of anything she says. Come, 
 come; dry your pretty eyes; a smile, a kiss, your arm 
 in mine, and, two gay Bohemians, we will drink to 
 poverty." 
 
 " Ah, noble father, at last I have you back ! " 
 cried Mile, de la Seigliere in a transport of joy. " As 
 you say, let us go; do not let us stay longer here; 
 we have delayed here too long already." 
 
 "Go!" cried the frivolous gentleman, who had 
 
 278
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 not been enough on his guard against his first im- 
 pulse, and would have given anything to take back 
 the foolish words he had just let fall. "Go!" he 
 repeated in stupefaction. " But, my poor child, 
 where the devil do you want to go to? Don't you 
 realize that I am at open war with the baronne, that 
 we have not even the resource left us of growing 
 lean at her table and shivering at her hearth? " 
 
 " If Mme. de Vaubert repulses us, we will go 
 where God leads," replied Helene; " but at any rate 
 we shall feel that we are pursuing the path of hon- 
 our." 
 
 " Come, come," said M. de la Seigliere, sitting 
 down insinuatingly at Helene's side, " it is all very 
 well to go where God leads you ; no one could choose 
 a better guide. Unhappily, God, who feeds and 
 shelters the little sparrows, is not so liberal to the 
 offspring of marquises. It is delightful to say, ' Let 
 us start, and go where God leads us.' That attracts 
 the youthful imagination; but when one has started 
 and gone some six leagues, and when one arrives in 
 the evening with the prospect of sleeping, supperless, 
 in the open starlight, one begins to think the way 
 of God a little hard. If I alone were in question, 
 I should long since have put on the pilgrim's sandals 
 and taken up the staff of the exile again; but what 
 about you, my Helene? Cease this pious nursery 
 talk; let us converse reasonably, calmly, as befits old 
 
 279
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 friends like ourselves. See, is there no way of ar- 
 ranging this little affair to the satisfaction of all the 
 parties interested? For instance, would not what I 
 suggested this morning " 
 
 " It would be a disgrace to both of us," replied 
 Helene coldly. " Do you know what people would 
 say? They would say you had sold your daughter; 
 poverty has no right to contract a mesalliance. What 
 would M. de Vaubert think, and this young man to 
 whom I made such cordial advances, believing him 
 to be poor and disinherited? While some accused 
 me of treachery, others would suspect me of only 
 courting his fortune, and both sides would despise 
 me. Marquis de la Seigliere, lift up your head and 
 your heart ; your birth and your poverty compel you. 
 For the rest, what is there so alarming in the destiny 
 that has overtaken us? Have we no refuge? I can 
 vouch for M. de Vaubert." 
 
 " But, ventre-saint-gris! " cried the marquis, " I 
 tell you there is war to the death between me and 
 the baronne." 
 
 "The King will help us," said H&ene. "He 
 must be good and just and great since he is the 
 King." 
 
 " Well, yes, the King. He does not even know 
 what I have done for him. The era of great in- 
 gratitude dates from the commencement of the mon- 
 archy." 
 
 280
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 " I will go and throw myself at his feet and say: 
 < Sire ' " 
 
 " He will refuse to listen to you." 
 
 "Well, then, father," cried Mile, de la Seigliere 
 firmly, " your daughter will be left to you. I am 
 young and courageous; I love you; I will work for 
 you." 
 
 " Poor child! " said the marquis, kissing one after 
 the other the hands of the fair heroine; " the labours 
 of these pretty hands would not provide food enough 
 for a lark in its cage. To come back to what I was 
 saying this morning, you think, then, that it would 
 be a slight on my honour and on yours? I pique my- 
 self on having a fairly thin skin where honour is con- 
 cerned, and yet I do not see things as you do, my 
 Helene. Let us put the question of society on one 
 side; whatever one does, whatever side one takes, 
 society will always find something to cavil at; only 
 a fool would trouble his head about that. You fear 
 that M. de Vaubert will accuse you of treason and 
 perjury? Well, on that point you may feel reas- 
 sured. The baronne is too clever to let her son asso- 
 ciate himself with our ruin, although I feel no doubt 
 as to Raoul's disinterestedness; yet, between our- 
 selves, he is a great booby, whom his mother will 
 always lead by the nose. And as to Bernard, why 
 should he despise you? I agree that he could not 
 in reason have dared to love a La Seigliere, but pas- 
 
 281
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 sion does not reason, and the boy loves you, 
 daughter." 
 
 " He loves me? " said Helene, in trembling ac- 
 cents. 
 
 " Pardifu!" said the marquis, "he adores you!" 
 
 " How do you know, father? " murmured Mile, 
 de la Seigliere in a scarcely audible voice, and for- 
 cing herself to smile. 
 
 " There is no doubt of it," thought the marquis, 
 stifling a sigh of resignation, " my daughter loves 
 this hussar. How do I know? " he cried. " My 
 youth is not yet so long gone by but that I can 
 remember how these things are carried on. When 
 he was telling over his battles in the winter, at the 
 fireside, do you think it was for the baronne's good 
 looks that he expended so much powder, such elo- 
 quence, and such sabre cuts? From the first evening 
 you were not there the devil would not have got 
 three words out of him. Do you think I did not 
 understand the cause of his melancholy, his silence, 
 and his glum looks? Did I not see his face clear up 
 when you graced us with your presence again? And 
 that day when he exposed his limbs to the tender 
 mercies of Roland, do you think that was not a 
 bit of lover's bravado? I say, he adores you. And 
 besides, if he belonged to the royalty of France, I 
 would like to know how he could help loving you? " 
 
 The marquis broke off to look at his daughter, 
 282
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 who was still listening to him. At her father's words, 
 Helene felt her scarcely stifled dream astir in her 
 breast. She sat there, pensive, silent, forgetting that 
 she had rivetted the chain that bound her forever 
 to Raoul, abandoning herself unconsciously to the 
 insensible current that swept her on to a shore where 
 youth and love were chanting paeans. 
 
 " Come," said the marquis to himself, " we shall 
 have two mesalliances instead of one." 
 
 And gaily deciding on his role, he was already 
 rubbing his hands when the door of the salon burst 
 open, and Mme. de Vaubert precipitated herself likfi 
 a water-spout into the room, followed by Raoul, un- 
 moved and serious. 
 
 "Amiable and noble girl!" exclaimed the ba- 
 ronne, stretching out her widely opened arms towards 
 Helene, " come, let me press you to my heart. Ah! 
 I knew well," she added with effusion, covering the 
 hair and forehead of Mile, de la Seigliere with kisses, 
 " I was certain that your lovely character would not 
 hesitate a moment between opulence and poverty! 
 My son, embrace your wife; my daughter, embrace 
 your husband. You are worthy of each other." 
 
 Speaking thus, she drew Helene gently toward' 
 the young baron, who respectfully kissed her hand. 
 
 " You see them, marquis," she resumed with an 
 air of being much affected; " you see their transports. 
 And now say, even if you had an iron heart, if a 
 
 283
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 she-bear had suckled you, say if you would have the 
 courage to break off such a charming connection? 
 In future it is not merely your honour that is at 
 stake; the happiness of these two noble creatures 
 is involved also." 
 
 " By my faith," said the marquis, whose stupe- 
 faction we cannot attempt to describe, " if I under- 
 stand anything of what is going on, may the deuce 
 or the baronne take me! " 
 
 " M. le Marquis," said Raoul, putting out a loyal 
 hand, " the revolutions have left me but little of the 
 fortune of my fathers; the little that I have is yours." 
 
 " M. de Vaubert," said Helene, " you do well." 
 
 " Magnanimous children! " exclaimed the ba- 
 ronne. " Marquis, you are touched. Your eyes are 
 moist, a tear is creeping under your eyelid. Why 
 do you try to conceal the emotion that has mastered 
 you? Your limbs are giving way beneath you, your 
 heart is ready to dissolve. Do not steel yourself; 
 let nature take its course. It is working in you, I 
 can feel and see it. Your arms are unclosing; they 
 will open, they are open! Raoul, hasten to embrace 
 your father," she concluded, pushing the young 
 baron into the arms of the marquis, and watching 
 with transports their somewhat grudging embrace. 
 
 " And we too, dear old friend," she cried in the 
 next breath, " are we not also to embrace? " 
 
 " Let us embrace, then," said the marquis. 
 
 284
 
 Mademoiselle de k Seigliere 
 
 And while they were in each other's arms, " Ba- 
 ronne," said the marquis under his breath, " I do 
 not know what you are about, but I feel that you 
 are plotting something abominable." 
 
 " Marquis," returned the baronne, " you are an 
 old roue. Raoul, Helene, you too, old friend," she 
 then went on effusively, embracing them all in one 
 glance and under one compulsion, " if I dare believe 
 in the joy that floods me, the manor of Vaubert is 
 about to become the home of peace, of happiness, 
 and of mutual tenderness; we are going to realize 
 the sweetest and most enchanted dream that has 
 ever gone up from earth to heaven. We shall be 
 poor, but our wealth will lie in the unity of our souls; 
 the picture of our humble fortune will more than 
 eclipse the glamour of luxury and the pomp of opu- 
 lence. How we shall spoil you, marquis! what love 
 and tender care will surround your old age, to make 
 you forget the wealth you have lost! Loved, cher- 
 ished, feted, caressed, you will come to understand 
 that this wealth was little to be regretted; you will 
 be astonished that you could for a single moment 
 have considered the possibility of buying it back at 
 the price of your honour." 
 
 After hazarding some objections that Raoul, He- 
 lene, and Mme. de Vaubert all united in opposing, 
 after vainly seeking some issue by which he might 
 escape, harassed, surrounded, taken in a snare, the 
 
 285
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 marquis at length cried gaily: "Well, well, ventre- 
 saint-gris! it is all one to me. My daughter will be 
 Baronne de Vaubert, and that old scoundrel Des 
 Tournelles will not have the satisfaction of seeing 
 a La Seigliere married to a farmer's son." 
 
 It was forthwith decided that the marquis should 
 as promptly as possible sign an act of relinquishment 
 in favour of Bernard, and that effected, should retire 
 with his daughter to the little Castel de Vaubert, 
 where they would at once proceed with the marriage 
 of the young couple. These matters arranged, the 
 baronne took the arm of the marquis, Raoul offered 
 his to Helene, and the four went off together to dine 
 at the manor. 
 
 286
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 MEANTIME, what was Bernard about while this 
 revolution was being effected at the chateau? He 
 was giving rein to his horse in the paths that follow 
 the Clain, head, mind, and heart rilled with a single 
 image. He was in love. In this proud, untamed 
 nature that had not been impoverished by its con- 
 tact with the world, love had not long rested in the 
 phase of vague aspiration, of floating dreams, of mys- 
 terious suffering; it had forthwith become an ardent, 
 energetic, lively, and profound passion. Bernard 
 belonged to the active and turbulent generation 
 whose youth had been spent in camps, and who had 
 never had the time to dream of love. At the age 
 of twenty-seven, at the still early hour by which the 
 children of our idle generation have foolishly dis- 
 persed their unoccupied forces to the winds, the 
 grand passion of glory alone had claimed him. Thus 
 it could easily have been predicted that if ever the 
 germ of a serious attachment should fall upon this 
 heart, it would absorb its sap and develop there like 
 a vigorous tree upon a virgin and fruitful soil. He 
 saw Helene and he loved her. By what art could 
 
 287
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 he have defended himself? She had fully inherited 
 the grace and beauty, the candour and intelligence, 
 all the elegances of her race without sharing their 
 narrow ideas and superannuated opinions. With the 
 royal dignity of the lily, she exhaled its soft and 
 sweet perfume; to the poetry of the past she joined 
 the serious instincts of our age. And this noble 
 creature had come to him, her hand outstretched, 
 a smile upon her lips. She had spoken to him of 
 his old father, whose dying moments she had soothed. 
 It was she who had replaced the absent son at the 
 old man's bedside, she who had received his last fare- 
 wells, his latest sigh. He had lived her life, seated 
 near her at table and at the fireside. As she listened 
 to the tale of the evils he had suffered, he had seen 
 her lovely eyes grow moist, he had seen them sparkle 
 as he told the story of his battles. How, in short, 
 could he have helped loving her? He had loved her 
 at first with an uneasy and fascinating love, akin to 
 every feeling that one disallows; then, when he saw 
 Helene's sudden withdrawal from him, with a fierce 
 and silent love, akin to every hopeless passion. It 
 was at this point that, questioning in the same breath 
 his heart and his destiny, he had been petrified with 
 horror. He perceived in the same flash that under 
 the glamour of the charm he had unreflectingly ac- 
 cepted an equivocal position; that his honour towards 
 his brethren-in-arms was at stake; and that to extri- 
 
 288
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 cate himself from this coil he would have to impov- 
 erish, ruin, and dispossess the woman he loved along 
 with her father. How could he make up his mind 
 to this, he who trembled at the mere thought that 
 his guests might leave from one day to the other at 
 their own free will; he who often asked himself in 
 terror what he would do alone in the empty chateau 
 if they were seized with a fancy to transport their 
 penates elsewhere? If he loved Helene above all 
 else, it was not she alone whom he loved. Even in 
 the midst of his passionate rages he felt himself se- 
 cretly drawn to the marquis. He had also a kind 
 of affection for all the details of this domestic in- 
 terior, whose easy graces and exquisite urbanity he 
 had never even suspected previously. Bernard had 
 not conceived the possibility of wedding Helene, the 
 idea that brought general reconciliation and from 
 which the old nobleman himself had not recoiled. 
 Beneath the abruptness of his manner, the energy 
 of his character, the ardour that consumed him, he 
 concealed all the delicacies and all the timidity of a 
 sensitive organization. His consciousness of his 
 rights made him humble instead of bold; he dis- 
 trusted his fortune. 
 
 And yet, for a week past, everything within as 
 around him seemed to have put on a new aspect. 
 Around him the woods and meadows were growing 
 green; within, Mile, de la Seigliere had reappeared 
 
 289
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 in his life with the return of spring to the earth. 
 The recovered presence of Helene, the interviews 
 recently held with the marquis, the cordial, almost 
 tender friendship shown him by the old gentleman, 
 certain words that had escaped him this very morn- 
 ing; all this, mingling with the warm breezes, the 
 scent of the hedges, the joyous sunshine, filled Ber- 
 nard with a strange disturbance, a nameless intoxica- 
 tion, that vague sense of terror that is the harbinger 
 of happiness. 
 
 Troubled thus without daring to ask himself the 
 reason, Bernard was galloping home, for the evening 
 was already closing in from the hills and creeping 
 over the plain, when, as he crossed the bridge, he per- 
 ceived the little party making its way to Vaubert. 
 He pulled up, and in the first place recognised Mile. 
 de la Seigliere hanging on the arm of a gentleman, 
 whom he at once assumed to be the young baron. 
 Bernard did not know Raoul, and was not aware 
 of the projected union, and yet his heart sank, while 
 he regretted the sight of this renewed intimacy be- 
 tween the marquis and the baronne. After following 
 the couples for a long time with an air of chagrin, he 
 rode on again slowly to the chateau, dined alone, 
 counted the hours sadly, and thought this solitary 
 evening, the first he had spent since his return, would 
 never come to an end. He wandered twenty times 
 round the park, withdrew discontentedly to his room, 
 
 290
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 and leaned from the balcony of his window until he 
 had seen M. de la Seigliere and his daughter passing 
 like two shadows beneath the trees, their voices 
 floating up to him in the silence of the night. 
 
 Next day, at the morning meal, he waited vainly 
 for Helene and her father. Jasmin, when questioned, 
 replied that the marquis and his daughter had started 
 an hour before for Vaubert, telling the servants they 
 would not be home for dinner. Throughout the day, 
 which passed even more slowly than the previous 
 evening, Bernard marked an unusual stir among the 
 servants, who came and went alternately from the 
 chateau to the manor, the manor to the chateau, 
 as though a new installation were in progress. He 
 had a foreboding of some frightful misfortune. At 
 one moment he was tempted to go straight to the 
 castle; a feeling of invincible repugnance, almost 
 of horror, had always made him avoid it. Did he, 
 like Helene, know that the thunder already growl- 
 ing on the horizon was being forged there? He 
 struggled on half-way, then, perceiving Helene on 
 the arm of Raoul upon the other bank, through the 
 silver foliage of the willows, and not being able to 
 distinguish her enfeebled walk and the pallor of her 
 countenance, he felt the pangs of jealousy gnawing 
 like an adder at his breast. His nature was gentle 
 and tender, but wild and impetuous. He went back 
 to his room, took down the pistols hanging from 
 
 291
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 the frame of the mirror, examined them with a fierce 
 and gloomy eye, tested the lock with rough and 
 violent fingers, then, ashamed of his folly, flung him- 
 self on his bed, and his lion's heart broke down. 
 Why he wept he did not know. He suffered with- 
 out analyzing the cause of his suffering, even as, the 
 night before, he had not known the source of his 
 life and happiness. 
 
 The evening was less stormy. At nightfall he 
 began to roam again in the park, awaiting the return 
 of the marquis. The breeze refreshed his brow, re- 
 flection soothed his heart. He told himself that 
 nothing was changed in his life, and came back by 
 degrees to a better mind. He had been seated for 
 some moments upon a stone bench, in the very place 
 where during the previous autumn he had so often 
 with Helene watched the yellow leaves dropping and 
 whirling in the air, when all at once the gravel of 
 the path was stirred with a light footfall, the rustling 
 of a gown was heard along the flowering hawthorn 
 hedge, and, raising his eyes, Bernard was aware that 
 Mile, de la Seigliere stood before him, paler, sadder, 
 graver than her wont. 
 
 292
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 " M. BERNARD, I was looking for you," she said 
 at once in a calm and gentle voice. 
 
 In effect, Helene had escaped in the hope of 
 meeting him. Knowing that she had but two more 
 nights to spend under the roof that was no longer 
 her father's, seeing very well that all connection 
 would in future be broken off between herself and 
 this young man, she had come to him, not from 
 weakness, but from a feeling of proud self-esteem, 
 not wishing that, should he one day discover the 
 tricks and intrigues that had been woven round his 
 fortune, he should suppose that she had been in any 
 way an accomplice. Nor did she conceal from her- 
 self that before parting she had obligations towards 
 him which it was her duty to fulfil; that at least she 
 owed a farewell to the host who had borne himself 
 with so much delicacy that she had never even sus- 
 pected his rights; at least she had some reparation 
 to make to this magnanimous soul whom, in her 
 ignorance, she had even accused of servility. She 
 had understood at last that the young man was en- 
 titled to learn from herself the fact of her approach- 
 
 293
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 ing departure, in order to spare him the humiliation, 
 if not the suffering, of it. 
 
 " M. Bernard," she resumed, after seating herself 
 near him with an emotion she did not attempt to 
 conceal, " in a couple of days my father and I will 
 have quitted this park and chateau, which no longer 
 belong to us. I did not wish to leave before I had 
 confessed your goodness to my old father and how 
 profound will be my recognition of it for the re- 
 mainder of my life. Yes, so good have you been, 
 so generous, that only yesterday I did not know 
 it myself." 
 
 " You are going away, mademoiselle, going 
 away? " repeated Bernard in a bewildered and in- 
 audible voice. " But what have I done? Perhaps 
 I have offended you in some way, without knowing 
 it you or M. le Marquis? I am only a soldier, I 
 know nothing of the manners of the world but 
 stay, do not go away! " 
 
 " We must," said Helene; "it is imperative both 
 for our honour and for yours. If, in leaving, my 
 father is not so affectionate as he ought to be, or 
 would appear, you must forgive him. My father is 
 old; at his age people have their failings. You will 
 not be angry with him; I still feel rich enough to 
 be able to add his debt of gratitude to mine and to 
 acquit them both." 
 
 " You are going? " repeated Bernard. " But if 
 294
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 you go, what is to become of me, mademoiselle? I 
 am alone in the world; I have neither relations, nor 
 friends, nor family; I have absolutely separated my- 
 self from the few friendships I made on first return- 
 ing here in order to join my life to yours. To stay 
 here with your father I have repudiated my caste, 
 abjured my religion, deserted my flag, denied my 
 brothers-in-arms; at this moment there is not one 
 of them but would refuse to put his hand in mine. 
 If you were to go, why did you not do so when I 
 presented myself here for the first time? I came 
 then with my head and heart full of hatred and 
 anger. I wanted revenge, I was ready; I hated your 
 father, you, and the other aristocrats I hated you 
 all. Then why did you not go? Why did you give 
 the place up to me? Why did you say to me, ' Let 
 us confound our rights, let us make one family? ' And 
 now that I have forgotten if I am in your father's 
 house or if your father is in mine, now that you have 
 taught me to love what I hated, to honour what 
 I used to despise, now that the ranks in which I 
 was born are closed to me, now that you have created 
 and put into me a new heart and soul, now you 
 would go away, you would fly from me and aban- 
 don me! 
 
 "Thus, then, mademoiselle," continued Bernard 
 sadly, raising his burning head, which he had buried 
 for a long while in his hands, " I have only brought 
 
 295 
 
 14-Vol. 7
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 disorder, trouble, and misfortune into your exist- 
 ence I who would give my life with avidity to spare 
 one sorrow from yours! Thus I have only come into 
 your destiny like a hurricane to wither and bruise 
 it I who would gladly shed all my blood to make 
 one flower bloom for youl You were here, calm, 
 happy, smiling, flourishing like a lily amid the luxury 
 of your ancestors, and I had to come back expressly 
 from the arid steppes to initiate you into the mis- 
 fortunes of poverty, I who would gladly return to 
 my ice-bound exile could I but leave you my share 
 of sunshine." 
 
 " Poverty does not alarm me," said Helene; " I 
 am acquainted with it; I have lived with it." 
 
 " But, mademoiselle," cried Bernard impulsively, 
 " how if, uplifted by despair as one is in war by 
 danger, I dared say to you in my turn what I have 
 not yet dared to say to myself; if in my turn I said 
 to you, ' Let us confound our rights and form only 
 one family.' If, encouraged by your grace and good- 
 ness, emboldened by the almost paternal affection 
 that has been shown me by M. le Marquis in these 
 latter days, I were to forget myself so far as to 
 stretch out towards you a trembling hand ah, 
 doubtless you would repulse it, this soldier's hand 
 still hardened with the labours of captivity, and with 
 rational indignation at the idea that a love so lowly 
 born should dare to raise itself to you, you would 
 
 396
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 heap on me your contempt and anger. But if you 
 could forget, as I should forget beside you, that I 
 ever made any pretensions to the inheritance of your 
 fathers; if you could continue to think, as I should 
 think with you, the fortune yours, the poverty mine; 
 and if I then said to you in a voice of humble en- 
 treaty, ' Let me remain in some corner where I might 
 only see you and admire you in silence; I will be 
 neither troublesome nor importunate, you will never 
 meet me on your path unless you summon me a 
 word, a sign, a look from you will send me back 
 into my corner ' then, perhaps, you might not re- 
 pulse me, you might take pity on my trouble; and I 
 would bless this pity, I would be prouder of it than 
 of a regal crown." 
 
 " M. Bernard," said Helene, rising with dignity, 
 " I know no heart placed so high that it can rival 
 your heart; I know no hand that would not be hon- 
 oured by the grasp of yours. Here is mine; it is the 
 farewell of a friend who will remember you in all her 
 prayers." 
 
 " Ah," cried Bernard, venturing for the first and 
 last time, alas! to lift to his lips the white hand of 
 Helene, "you are taking my life with you; but, 
 noble girl, what is to become of you and of your 
 aged father? " 
 
 " Our destiny is assured,*' said Mile, de la Sei- 
 gliere, not realizing that, in her wish to spare Ber- 
 
 297
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 nard from regret, she was giving the unhappy man 
 his death-blow. " M. de Vaubert also has a noble 
 heart; he will be as happy to share his modest for- 
 tune with me as I should myself have been in shar- 
 ing my opulence with him." 
 
 " Do you love one another? " asked Bernard. 
 
 " I think I told you," replied Mile, de la Seigliere, 
 after an instant's hesitation, " that we had grown 
 up together in exile." 
 
 " Do you love one another? " repeated Bernard. 
 
 " His mother replaced my mother; we were be- 
 trothed in our cradles." 
 
 " Do you love one another? " demanded Bernard 
 yet once more. 
 
 " I have pledged my word to him," replied He- 
 lene. 
 
 "Then farewell!" returned Bernard with a 
 gloomy air. "Farewell, vanished dream!" he mur- 
 mured in a stifled voice, as his eyes followed Helena 
 through his tears while she walked, pensive, away. 
 
 298
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE next was the day fixed for the signing of 
 the act of relinquishment. On the stroke of mid- 
 day the marquis, Helene, Mme. de Vaubert, and a 
 notary who had come expressly from Poitiers, were 
 assembled in the great salon of the chateau, where 
 there were already signs of the approaching depar- 
 ture. Only Bernard had not yet made his appear- 
 ance. Helene was grave and dignified; the mar- 
 quis, glad to make an end of the matter, was as 
 lively as a butterfly. 
 
 " Well, Mme. la Baronne," he cried gaily, rub- 
 bing his hands, " so we are going to live in your 
 little castle, we are going to resume the peaceable 
 course of our life in Germany r It will be delight- 
 ful; we shall be able to fancy ourselves still in exile. 
 And it is to you, most generous of friends, that the 
 last of the La Seiglieres will be indebted for bread 
 and salt." 
 
 Mme. de Vaubert smiled, but betrayed a fierce 
 preoccupation in brow and eye. 
 
 Bernard soon came in, booted and spurred, his 
 299
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 riding-whip in his hand. The baronne immediately 
 began to watch him anxiously, but no one could 
 have guessed from the man's face what might be 
 passing in his soul. 
 
 After clearly and intelligibly reading out the act 
 that he had drawn up in advance, the marquis took 
 a pen, threw back his cuff of English point, and 
 signed without a frown; then with exquisite polite- 
 ness offered the paper with the fiscal stamp to Ber- 
 nard. 
 
 " Sir," he said with a gracious smile, " you have 
 how authentically recovered the sweat of your 
 father." 
 
 It was the decisive moment. Mme. de Vaubert 
 turned pale, and directed a burning glance at Ber- 
 nard. 
 
 Bernard hesitated; impassive and gloomy, he 
 seemed to have neither seen nor heard anything. A 
 glimmer of triumph shot through the eyes of the 
 baronne. 
 
 " Ventre-saint-gris, sir!" exclaimed the marquis; 
 " are you going to make objections at this time of 
 day?" 
 
 "Noble young man!" murmured the baronne 
 with emotion. 
 
 Bernard trembled, as if he had been suddenly 
 awakened, took the sheet from the marquis with' 
 military promptness, folded it in four, slipped it into 
 
 300
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 the pocket of his overcoat, which he buttoned again 
 at once, then withdrew gravely without saying a 
 single word. 
 
 Mme. de Vaubert was left in consternation. 
 
 " Come," said the marquis in a good humour, 
 " this is a fine day's work that will cost us a million." 
 
 " Have I been mistaken? " Mme. de Vaubert 
 asked herself, with evident signs of preoccupation. 
 " Is this Bernard a good-for-nothing, after all? " 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! how grave and sad he looked ! " 
 thought Mile, de la Seigliere to herself, shivering 
 with a vague presentiment. 
 
 The day drew to a close amid the final prepara- 
 tions for departure. The marquis himself took down, 
 gaily enough, the venerable portraits of his ances- 
 tors, finding some jest about each in turn, but the 
 baronne did not laugh. Helene was occupied in 
 putting together her books, her embroideries, her 
 albums, her palettes, and her sketches. Bernard had 
 gone out riding immediately after the interview that 
 formally reinstated him in his rights; he did not come 
 home till long after nightfall. As he crossed the 
 park he caught sight of Mile, de la Seigliere, who 
 was watching by her open window. He stayed a 
 long while, leaning against a tree, absorbed m con- 
 templation of her. 
 
 Helene sat up the whole night through, now 
 leaning over the balcony of her window, gazing by 
 
 301
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 the moonlight at the fine trees she was so soon to 
 quit forever, now roaming about her room, bidding 
 farewell to this sweet nest of her girlhood. 
 
 Exhausted with fatigue, she flung herself in her 
 clothes upon the bed at the first glimmer of dawn. 
 She had slept uneasily for about an hour when she 
 was suddenly awakened by an appalling uproar. She 
 rushed to the window, and there, although it was not 
 the season for hunting, she beheld all the huntsmen 
 of the chateau assembled, some on horseback and 
 blowing their horns as if they wanted to waken the 
 dead, others holding the pack, which gave tongue 
 madly in the resonant morning air. 
 
 Mile, de la Seigliere was beginning to ask herself 
 if all this hubbub was intended to celebrate the day 
 of her exile, and why she should be favoured with 
 this noisy and untimely serenade, when suddenly she 
 gave a cry of terror on seeing Bernard appear, for- 
 cing his way through the pack between the hunts- 
 men, who themselves seemed petrified with horror 
 Bernard, booted and spurred as on the previous day, 
 and riding Roland. Gracefully restraining the ex- 
 citement of the terrible animal, he brought him, paw- 
 ing, right under the window to which Helene, paler 
 than death, was clinging; then he lifted his eyes to 
 the young girl, and, after uncovering respectfully, 
 loosed the rein, struck his spurs into the animal's 
 flanks, and went off like the wind, followed at a dis- 
 
 302
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 tance by the huntsmen, to the shrill accompaniment 
 of the trumpets. 
 
 " Unhappy man," shrieked Mile, de la Seigliere, 
 wringing her hands in her despair, " he means, he 
 wants, to kill himself! " 
 
 She would have run, but whither? Roland went 
 faster than the wind. 
 
 It had been arranged the evening before that 
 Raoul and his mother should come in the forenoon 
 to fetch the marquis and his daughter, escort them 
 home, and finally install them in their new abode. 
 As Helene was preparing to leave her room and go 
 to the salon, she met Jasmin on the threshold, who, 
 as the precursor of misfortune, presented her with 
 a sealed letter on a silver tray. Helene went hastily 
 back into her room, broke the seal, and read these 
 lines, evidently penned in haste: 
 
 " MADEMOISELLE: Do not go. Stay. What am 
 1 to do with this fortune? I could but use it to do 
 a little good. You will accomplish this better than 
 I more gracefully, and in a fashion more acceptable 
 to God. Only I pray you in your thoughts to let 
 me share in half of all your benefactions; that will 
 bring me a blessing. Do not trouble about my fate; 
 I am far from being without resource. My rank, 
 my epaulettes, and my sword are left to me. I shall 
 join the service again; if it is no longer the same 
 
 303
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 flag, at least it is still and always France. Adieu, 
 mademoiselle. I love you and I worship you. I 
 owe you a little grudge, however, for wanting to 
 burden me with a million, but I pardon you, and 
 bless you, because you loved my poor old father. 
 
 " BERNARD." 
 
 In the same envelope was an autograph will, 
 couched in the following terms: 
 
 " I give and bequeath to Mile. Helene de la Sei- 
 gliere all the legitimate property I possess in this 
 world. 
 
 " Given at my Chateau de la Seigliere, April 25, 
 1819." 
 
 When she entered the salon, where Mme. de 
 Vaubert and her son had just arrived, Helene was 
 so pale, so undone, that the marquis cried out, ask- 
 ing what had happened to her? The baronne and 
 Raoul hastened to support her, but the young girl 
 remained cold and dumb. 
 
 " Come, come," said the marquis, " is your heart 
 failing you at the last moment?" 
 
 Helene made no reply. 
 
 The hour fixed for departure was drawing near. 
 The baronne still expected that Bernard would offer 
 some obstacle, and as nothing happened she found 
 
 304
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 it difficult to conceal her bad humour. Nor was the 
 young baron, on his side, in transports of enthusiasm. 
 And lastly, chilled by the general atmosphere, the 
 marquis no longer exhibited the good grace he had 
 manifested during the last few days. 
 
 " By the way," he said, " that fellow Bernard 
 served us with a bit of his humour this morning." 
 
 " What's that, marquis? " asked the baronne, 
 pricking up her ears at the name of Bernard. 
 
 " Would you believe it, baronne, that cow-herd's 
 son could not even wait till we were gone before he 
 took possession of my property? At cock-crow he 
 went off hunting, escorted by my pack, and followed 
 by all my huntsmen." 
 
 Just then Mile, de la Seigliere, who had been 
 standing at the open door at the head of the steps, 
 gave a frightful scream and fell back into the arms 
 of her father, who had only just time to catch her. 
 Roland had flashed by in the great drive like a peb- 
 ble shot from a sling; his saddle was empty, and the 
 stirrups clapped against the torn flanks of the ani- 
 mal. 
 
 Some time after these events a sufficiently comic 
 scene took place at the Chateau de la Seigliere, 
 namely, when the malicious old lawyer, whom you 
 will not have forgotten and whom we have called 
 Des Tournelles, came officiously, after Bernard's 
 
 305
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 death, to point out to the marquis that he now was 
 less than ever at home there, and urged upon him 
 to clear out at once, if he did not wish to expose 
 himself to the rigours of an administration of the 
 demesne. But it is useless to prolong this story 
 further. 
 
 Two months after the death' of Bernard, which 
 was naturally attributed to a mad freak, an incident 
 of another kind gave preoccupation to the minds, 
 great and small, fine and ugly, of the town and coun- 
 try-side; this was the entrance of Mile, de la Seigliere 
 into the novitiate of the Convent of the Sisters of 
 St. Vincent de Paul. Different views were held 
 about this event: some only considered it the res'ult 
 of ardent piety and a fervent vocation; others sus- 
 pected a sprinkling of love other than the love of 
 God. The truth was more or less nearly guessed at, 
 but no one hit the right nail on the head, unless it 
 were the marquis, the rest of whose days were poi- 
 soned by the idea that evidently his daughter must 
 have been in love with the hussar. When, however, 
 with Bernard's will in his hand, the marquis was able 
 to prove his claim to the vacant succession of the 
 administration of the estates, he was obliged to ad- 
 mit that the boy had arranged things very decently. 
 He pursued his life as before, the absence of his 
 daughter making no change in his habits. He died 
 of emotion in 1830, as he listened to a troop of lads 
 
 306
 
 Mademoiselle de la Seigliere 
 
 who had collected under his windows to sing the 
 " Marseillaise " and break a few of his window-panes. 
 
 The young baron entered a rich plebeian family, 
 where he played the part of George Dandin returned. 
 His father-in-law scoffed at the titles of his son by 
 marriage, and reproached him for the crown-pieces 
 he had counted out. His wife called him M. le Ba- 
 ron, and made game of him. 
 
 Mme. de Vaubert is still alive. She passes her 
 days in front of the Chateau de la Seigliere; every 
 night she dreams that she is changed into a cat, and 
 that she sees the chateau dancing about in front 
 of her in the form of a mouse, which she never can 
 reach with her claws. 
 
 After her father's death, Mile, de la Seigliere 
 disposed of all her wealth in favour of the poor; it 
 is even said that the chateau itself is soon to be 
 converted into an almshouse. 
 
 307
 
 THE PORTRAITS OF 
 JULES SANDEAU
 
 THE PORTRAITS OF 
 JULES SANDEAU 
 
 JULES SANDEAU knew how 
 to please he was amiable. 
 Even in his old age, when 
 laden with years and sor- 
 row, he still won the affec- 
 tion of those around him 
 by his inexhaustible good- 
 ness and benevolence, and 
 by the fascinating and affa- 
 ble manner which he re- 
 tained to the end of his 
 days. His gentle and hon- 
 est life, made beautiful by 
 love and art, was one of 
 
 constant thought for others. Kindness came natu- 
 rally to him. During the whole of his long and 
 arduous literary career, by word and deed, he ex- 
 tended to friends and strangers alike his genial 
 sympathy. 
 
 His biographers have told of the charm of inter- 
 course with him, of the transparent nobility of his 
 15 Vol. 7 3 11 
 
 JULES SANDEAU. 
 
 After a drawing; by Collette, 
 about 1865.
 
 The Portraits of Jules Sandeau 
 
 soul, dedicated as it was to beauty and to art. All 
 have fallen under the fascination of his personality. 
 
 Looking at the excellent portrait engraved by 
 Lehmann in 1850, which forms the frontispiece of 
 this volume, one has no difficulty in understanding 
 the influence possessed by a man endowed with such 
 
 a delicate physique. He 
 was then in his thirtv- 
 ninth year, in the prime 
 of his strength, at the 
 height of his inspira- 
 tion. 
 
 The face, large and 
 regular, breathes a ful- 
 ness of life, a suggestion 
 of sensuousness, a philo- 
 sophic contentment as 
 of one loath to condemn 
 other men's errors. The pure and beautiful curve 
 of his high forehead indicates a noble sphere . of 
 thought. The clear blue eyes are infinitely tender, 
 with a caressing fixity of expression almost feminine; 
 the nose straight, the mouth and chin voluptuous, 
 and on either side of the face hangs the light, curl- 
 ing hair. It is a sympathetic and highly spiritual 
 head, which at the same time suggests a likeness to 
 Flaubert in youth. But already Sandeau's hair is 
 growing thinner. He is thirty-nine years old. He 
 is no more the young novelist of 1831, under the in- 
 
 312 
 
 JULES SAJTDEAU. 
 
 After a lithograph by Schultz, 
 about 1870.
 
 The Portraits of Jules Sandeau 
 
 fluence of Henri de Latouche and his fellow-worker, 
 the young 1 Baroness Aurore Dudevant, afterwards 
 George Sand. It was Sandeau who thus christened 
 the authoress of Mauprat, when he gave her the 
 first part of his own name. Far-away years ! Far- 
 away memories ! Glorious youth ! 
 
 Our regret is that we are unable to give a pic- 
 ture of Sandeau at that time, when he was slender and 
 beautiful, no doubt, like a young squire of romance. 
 
 George Sand in those days, when finishing with 
 him their joint novel, 
 Rose et Blanche, wrote 
 at the end those bitter 
 words referring to their 
 loves : " Life is a wicked 
 book, whose pages I 
 would not willingly read 
 again." 
 
 What an avowal of 
 pessimistic faith ! But 
 youth's declarations of 
 faith are not more last- 
 ing than their passions. 
 
 Alfred de Musset soon became aware that Mme. 
 Sand's affection for his master and godfather was on 
 the wane. Sandeau himself ended by forgetting it. 
 Literature absorbed him, and he was forming many 
 friendships. Towards 1835 he became very intimate 
 with Balzac. Sandeau's most important successes 
 
 313 
 
 JULES SAXDEAU. 
 
 After a photograph by Goupil, 
 taken in 1872.
 
 The Portraits of Jules Sandeau 
 
 happened at this time. The master-writer of Made- 
 moiselle de la Sciglicrc found in marriage and the 
 birth of a son the realization of the most cherished 
 hopes of one of his heroines, Madeleine. To love, 
 to work, to dream, to hope this is the interpreta- 
 tion of Lehmann's engraving. 
 
 The second portrait which we give of Sandeau is 
 from a drawing by (Toilette (1865). There are no 
 intermediate portraits. It is already Sandeau in the 
 second period of his life older, with features more 
 pronounced, the forehead nearly bald, and the stiff 
 carriage of a morose ex-colonel. He has been for 
 seven years a member of the Academic Franchise ; 
 his reputation has increased ; he himself has become 
 more paternal and simple. Instead of that personal 
 fascination, which he no longer possesses, he strives 
 to substitute a courteous welcome, a gentle and 
 kindly exterior. Seeming to pass judgment upon 
 himself at this time, he wrote : " There exists one 
 gift of nature which always appears to me to hold 
 the first place in the intercourse of men it is the 
 art of pleasing. I would willingly apply to it Mon- 
 taigne's words when speaking of beauty. Like 
 beauty, it beguiles and carries away our judgment 
 with an authority more gentle and more certain than 
 genius herself. It insinuates itself into the depths 
 of the soul and finds none to oppose. Thrice blest 
 is he who is gifted with it at his birth." 
 
 On page 312 is a lithograph of Sandeau at sixty 
 314
 
 The Portraits of Jules Sandeai, 
 
 o/ 
 
 years of age that was done by Schultz in 1870. The 
 venerable head is held erect. The delicate painter of 
 nature and all gentler emotions looks without flinch- 
 ing and with a certain defiance into the mysterious 
 land beyond. Who knows 
 what that future was when 
 seen ! 
 
 On page 313 is a photo- 
 graph of Sandeau by Gou- 
 pil, taken in 1872. He looks 
 gloomy ; his neck is huge 
 and apoplectic, his body 
 weighed down by exces- 
 sive corpulence. Already 
 he is tormented by that ter- 
 rible illness which was also 
 to cause the death of his 
 son. Jules Sandeau worshipped his brilliant sailor 
 son, who had had command in the eastern seas of 
 the frigate Venus, No doubt the young man had 
 contracted in those far-off countries the malady 
 which was to prove fatal. Never did his father 
 recover from the blow. A photograph of the year 
 1874 bears strongly the marks of this great sorrow. 
 " Why should I need to take care of myself, now 
 that my Jules is dead?" he had said to Emile 
 Augier, his intimate friend. 
 
 Thus did sorrow darken the declining years of 
 this venerable and charming old man. His lumi- 
 
 315 
 
 JULES SANDEAU. 
 
 After a photograph taken 
 in 1874.
 
 The Portraits of Jules Sandeau 
 
 nous talent, which M. Andr6 Theuriet so happily 
 likened to one of those beautiful summer days of 
 Limousin or Poitou, had lost the freshness, the pic- 
 turesqueness of former days. 
 
 He was crushed by the hand of sorrow. His 
 features became more masculine, his manner more 
 grave. His eyes alone betrayed the subdued fires of 
 the past. I can still remember him, a portly, slow- 
 moving figure, when we used to meet on the bridge 
 of the Saints- Peres in Paris twenty years ago, as he 
 was returning from the Galerie Mazarine, where he 
 was librarian. 
 
 His veteran face, like that of an old Crimean 
 general, seemed to restore to the Academic its links 
 with the past. Resembling in his carriage that 
 Marshal de Canrobert who lived in his own time, he 
 wore his garments loose, and a broad-brimmed hat 
 after the fashion of Barbey d'Aurevilly, the novelist 
 of Normandy. His face was puffy, and his red, large 
 nose appeared like a tomato beneath the blinking 
 and dulled eyes. 
 
 An engraving executed in Spain a short time be- 
 fore his death is the last picture, according to the 
 date which we possess, of one of the most cultivated 
 writers of romance and of French drama in the nine- 
 teenth century. Sandeau, with his impressionable 
 nature and honest character, was one of the most 
 upright men of letters of our rapid age. 
 
 In summing up the iconography of Jules San- 
 3'6
 
 The Portraits of Jules Sandeau 
 
 deau, we find that, with the exception of the por- 
 trait by Lehmann, which appears as the frontispiece, 
 his portraits all represent him 
 in his later years under the 
 aspect of an old man of mili- 
 tary bearing. 
 
 It was, however, his way of 
 remaining romantic, and pecul- 
 iar to himself ; for Feydeau, 
 who was the typical writer of 
 Louis Philippe's reign, said he 
 expressed in his walk and car- 
 riage the provoking swagger 
 
 of the heroes of the Algerian 
 
 JULES SANDEAU. 
 
 After an engraving made in 
 Spain shortly before his 
 
 death. 
 
 conquest. 
 
 The Due d'Aumale, Jules 
 
 Sandeaii's colleague at the Academic, said of him, 
 " I seem always to think that he has fought by my 
 
 side in Africa." 
 
 OCTAVE UZANNE. 
 
 THE END 
 
 317
 
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